He does love her. Contrary to what his kids may think. A part of him wonders
what they think and another doesn’t care – after all they haven’t lived with her
for the last 10-12 years. They’ve been away. They have no idea what he has
been through every day.
As he looks at his daughter having lunch at the hospital cafeteria - he knows she
is like him and will not spare him the silence. They will eat this meal silently,
passing each other things like clockwork even before it is asked.
If his wife were at the table on the other hand – now she could really talk. She
would say how the drumstick in the aviyal was not cooked enough, how it’s a
good thing they have served hot water and how cold and rainy today has been.
But enough said. His wife was not at the table. It would be a while before she
was at any table for a meal with him. His eyes involuntarily teared up and he
wiped his eyes. He wonders if his daughter saw that display. He hopes not.
He still cannot believe this has happened – he has been to the hospital four
times now and they never NEVER mentioned that you cannot see the patients for
the first four days after they are admitted. You cannot call them either. He can
still recall the accusatory look his daughter threw at him when she discovered.
But he didn’t know. Had he known, would he have promised his wife that he
would be right outside and meet her everyday? She would probably wait for him
now – and he didn’t even get to say goodbye.
His eyes teared up again and this time he didn’t hold back the tears. This time
his daughter looked up, held his hand, gave him water but didn’t say anything –
ask anything. How like him she was. Lunch over-they would leave the hospital
and look for a guesthouse. He had not turned around to see if she was at any of
the windows. He knew better.
what they think and another doesn’t care – after all they haven’t lived with her
for the last 10-12 years. They’ve been away. They have no idea what he has
been through every day.
As he looks at his daughter having lunch at the hospital cafeteria - he knows she
is like him and will not spare him the silence. They will eat this meal silently,
passing each other things like clockwork even before it is asked.
If his wife were at the table on the other hand – now she could really talk. She
would say how the drumstick in the aviyal was not cooked enough, how it’s a
good thing they have served hot water and how cold and rainy today has been.
But enough said. His wife was not at the table. It would be a while before she
was at any table for a meal with him. His eyes involuntarily teared up and he
wiped his eyes. He wonders if his daughter saw that display. He hopes not.
He still cannot believe this has happened – he has been to the hospital four
times now and they never NEVER mentioned that you cannot see the patients for
the first four days after they are admitted. You cannot call them either. He can
still recall the accusatory look his daughter threw at him when she discovered.
But he didn’t know. Had he known, would he have promised his wife that he
would be right outside and meet her everyday? She would probably wait for him
now – and he didn’t even get to say goodbye.
His eyes teared up again and this time he didn’t hold back the tears. This time
his daughter looked up, held his hand, gave him water but didn’t say anything –
ask anything. How like him she was. Lunch over-they would leave the hospital
and look for a guesthouse. He had not turned around to see if she was at any of
the windows. He knew better.
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