Journey of love - IV ( A daughter - I)

That’s not just a word... it’s a labor of love, pain, trust, and joy. The only need of despair would arise at the point of losing her, forever.

I met her mom, six years before she brought a fulfilling joy and pride in my life. Her mom and I were in love, and were sure of a life in blissful, holy matrimony. Within six months of knowing her, I asked her hand. My spirits reaching dizzy heights, I got her immediate approval. Five years of courting her, and we knew that it was time to build our family. A year and two months later, our bundle of joy arrived, covered in soft blue towels.

We decided to call her Amelia. But tenderly, I whispered into her ear, “Amy”. In remembrance of a friend long lost but never forgotten, I was beginning to start a long journey with my little baby.

Mum and daughter entered our flowery entrance of the house, and it was a sweet homecoming. All close relatives were at home, to welcome mother and child. A warm light seemed to radiate from Amy’s luminescent face. I felt warm and tears trickled down my cheek. I sat at a chair and watched my little bundle of joy, passed around my relatives as a symbol of her first meeting with her extended family. I moved my head and caught the watchful gaze of my wife. Post pregnancy, she looked relieved, and overall, very beautiful. My love for her and grown by bounds and leaps. Suddenly I felt a slight, nimble tug at my sleeve. I looked down and saw Amy, in the arms of my mother, her sleepy eyes searching for a familiar expression on my face.

It was a lovely feeling, watching little Amy in her grandmother’s arms, resting on the shoulders that once supported and comforted me. My wife came over and caressed her child’s face. Her arms, wobbly as they were, stretched out to embrace her mother. It melted my heart. I hugged my wife, mother and little baby close. It was a moment I would cherish for a long time to come. The welcome party was short. My wife was tired from the long trip home. I took my child and wife upstairs to bed. Thankfully, the little one was sleeping soundly. As I laid Amy on the bed, I helped my wife into the bed covers. As I tucked them in bed, I knelt by her side, watching my wife admire our labor of love. I bent forward and gazed into my wife’s loving eyes. They were sparkling, and the next moment, tears welled up in her eyes. I kissed her eyelids, and ran my fingers through her hair. She looked up and smiled at me.

I whispered in her ear, “Thank you.” She chuckled and drew me nearer, saying, “No, thank you, for I wanted a girl.” I loved her, and when she told me that, I just wanted to cry. I kissed her, passionately, and felt revived. As I roved her long tresses with my fingers, I heard a small gurgle between us. I broke away, and looked at Amy. The little one was trying to sleep. I laughed quietly at the amusing situation, and so did my wife. I kissed her a quick second time, bent low to kiss my sleeping princess and smelt her hair. She smelt wonderful. I told my wife, “You need some rest. Go to sleep, sweetheart.” I left the room, in silence. Two souls were at rest inside, hearts beating almost in unison as mother and child slept in a warm embrace.

Years passed by. We grew up as a family. I got busy trying to cope up with work at the hotel and playing my role as the doting father for a sweet, cherubic little angel. The cons of my job included coming back home late, tired and weary, and when Amy was asleep. But no matter how much my wife protested I used to go quietly into Amy’s room and sit by her side. I developed a habit of watching her sleep. She curled up on her side, her nimble chest heaving in slow rhythm, and her eyes closed shut. Her face had the most serene expression that would always take away my weariness. I was so proud of her.

Soon I would feel my wife’s hands, gently resting on my shoulder so as not to startle me from my dreamy reality. I looked at my wife. She too had a smile on her face as she gazed at Amy. I caught her gaze and silently said, “I love you.” She understood. She wrapped her arms around my neck, kissed my cheek and called me to bed. She was right. I needed the rest. I nodded, and bent forward to kiss Amy goodnight. I wondered what she dreamt as she slept. The days to follow were busy, and I had to spend a lot of time at the hotel. She grew up quickly, and I made it a point to watch on her whenever I could. The days when I could spend and evening with her, I would sit at my couch and relax with her crawling at my legs.

She was already speaking with a few mistakes, making her as cute as possible. One fine day, while I sat with her on the couch, she started playing at my legs. “Daady, when I go to beach?” she would ask, with eyes sparkling. I would tell her. I told her, “Very soon, my precious.”

“No daady, I want to go soon,” she would say, tugging at my pants.

“Alright dear, I will take you on Friday. Just you, ‘daady’ and mommy.”

You would have heard the sweetest squeal of joy, as she continuously jumped on my legs. Unable to move much, she hugged my legs, and said, “Thank you daady. I love you shooo much.” I looked at my little one, clinging to my legs as tight as she could. I stretched and ruffled her hair. She giggled, tickled by the sensation. I lifted her up in my arm, and told her that I loved her too. Never in my life was I so sure of my words.

My little girl was a feisty one. And naughty too. She was on the move, never sitting silent at one spot. With her around, the house was as noisy as ever. I used to come home late, so I never experienced her ‘wrath’. Only on my off-days would I realize why my wife always grumbled in her sleep. The house would be in a mess, a havoc created by my daughter. Some days, I would tolerate her. On the other days though, she would cross the limit. When she does, I would call out loud, “AMELIA!!”

I don’t know how, or the reason why, but it works. Whatever she does, she stops and stares with concern. I return her stare, but with one of frustration. Immediately, tears welled in her eyes. She ran into her bedroom. When she left the room, there was a sudden emptiness. Unable to hold any longer, I went in after her. Her room was closed. But it was not locked. As I opened the door, I hadn’t the slightest clue that I would be changed man, forever.

I opened the door, and looked around. I managed to spot her white toes beneath the covers. I was sure I heard sobs. In an attempt to reconcile with her, I slipped in beside her. I laid my hand on her head. It was warm. “Honey,” I whispered. She moved. She stopped sobbing. As my fingers moved to her cheeks, I felt them moist.

“Honey, I am sorry,” I told her, “don’t get so sad.” Through the darkness, I saw her face me. She looked into my eyes, almost seeing right into me. I could feel it. I sat upright, and she got up too. “Daddy, I am sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be, dear,” I said, pushing the hair off her face, “I was just correcting you. Your mother loves you very much, and it would break her heart if you don’t listen to her. If you love mom and me, please listen to your mother. I love you very much, dear.”

She hugged me. I sat in silence, and patted her head. “I love you dad,” she said softly. I held her closer to me, saying, “I love you too.” I began to rock her gently. She again said, “I love you, dad,” to which I replied, “I love you too.” We continued repeating these words, and it seemed to go on forever. But there was something about that day. I felt nice in her arms. I felt a sense of longing, and it was a longing to keep her happy, as long as I could. But the way she hugged and held on to me, she felt so vulnerable. Sadly though, as she slowly drifted into sleep in my arms, I had a feeling that I was going to lose her. I put her slowly to bed, and left the room quietly.

My little girl was a lovely dancer. She was graceful with her steps and she seemed to float along the floor. It was pleasing to watch her twirl in front of the mirror. She came up to us as my wife and I sat at the couch, watching her. She said that she wanted to be a dancer. My wife smiled and told that Amy was the best dancer she had seen. Little Amy’s eyes gleamed with pride as she continued dancing. My wife was happy, for one reason, that Amy was not busy messing the living room. I put her in a dancing class, where the instructor told us that Amy was best suited for Ballet. I was enthralled. My wife jumped at me in excitement when I told her the news. We were hopping like mad in the living room, when little Amy stood there, happy, but not knowing what ‘ballet’ meant. To her it was ‘fun’. That time she was a six year old.

I saved up a small fortune for Amy’s classes, and I had never seen her so happy. She loved to dress in those small white frocks and dance with her satin shoes. At the dinner table, when we all sit down to eat, Amy would tell us of all she learnt in the class and school. As she talked to her mom, I looked at Amy’s face. She was bright and very happy too. That satisfied me. Then she came home to tell us one day that there was a concert at the town hall, where her class would give a performance. We were happy. At the hotel, I proudly gave my work buddies flyers of my girl’s concert. Most of them told that they would make it. I really wanted them to see how lovely my daughter was in her dance.

Contd.