For one month, our house is filled with life, vibrant and cheerful – and our lives revolve around a two-year old toddler, Kikay, my first grand-daughter, but tomorrow, she will enplane back to her home in San Francisco. My wife, would be a picture of gloom; wretched and miserable – two regular towels will be handy to stanch those freely flowing tears from her eyes, but my youngest daughter is upbeat because she will chaperon that precious little darling on the plane though my other daughter is feeling desolate that she is not available for the trip to take her sister’s spot for the privilege of escorting her back home. This is what family is all about.
My wife would not even dare join the send-off party – anxious that a swelling lump in her throat could crumple her like an empty sack at the airport’s lounge. That is how she would picture her devastation for a grandkid leaving her, after a month of filling her with enthusiasm and excitement and the two together reciting the alphabet and the nursery rhymes no end early morning and after work; or their time together at the mall, at diners and on picnic grounds. The other grandma who lives across the street would cut short this idyll, when it is her turn to bond with her.
Kikay’s presence brought us tremendous joy, but now it has to end. My wife was looking forward to talking to her again online, but that is nothing compared to when you can touch and hug her or bath her.
On my part, I have to hang my camera temporarily until I can get another subject as pleasant as her, and get me clicking that shutter back again. I have to readjust my rearview mirror also to look at cars behind, instead of positioning it to where I can see my granddaughter safely belted at the backseat while I drive to work. Yes, I have to bring her to work on days that the two grandmas would not allow them to leave work on regular days to babysit her. I ended up getting more quality time with my granddaughter – my kind of work allows me to do both; work and play, after all, I am my own boss and nobody will fire me for playing at work!
I have to fold also the small foamed sofa bed in my work which comes handy when she gets drowsy and fall asleep after watching Elmo and Barney and bring it back home.
I am not unaware that in some place, due to family circumstance, throbbing fetuses in some mother’s wombs are not welcome and have to be aborted. But is our adult circumstance a reason for an infant to die? Somehow, all these years, I find no justification in the choice of mothers crushing the tender skulls of those helpless babies in their wombs because they would be a burden to them once born. I find the practice pernicious and morally wrong. How I wish every child is my Kikay, where her presence is always longed-for with eagerness and boundless anticipation.