Her

I sit on my couch and send an acquaintance a "Happy Birthday" message telling him that he shares his birthday with a special person in my life. Then I go to bed and dream about randomness all night long. I awake to a windy morning, attend a few phone calls, work out, and glance at the calendar. And then it hits me. It was the 15th of November today and it was someone special's birthday, a fact that seemed so casual last night, and so painful today.

I reminisce about this very same day, 17 years ago. The picture is not very vivid in my mind but the photographs that I left behind in your home are. I remember how I excited I was about your birthday just like I am about everyone's birthday every year. And you shook your head and said that you did not want your birthday to be celebrated. You were embarrassed, you said. You did not have much hair on your head from the chemotherapy and you did not want many people to see you that way. I told you that we could get you a scarf and that it would be all be ok. You did not say anything, I suppose, for the birthday celebrations did happen.

I do not remember much of that day except for the fact that we got a Chocolate Truffle cake from Pastry Waggon just because it happened to be my favorite cake. How selfish of me! But I was only a child then. I do not remember what happened exactly. But the pictures that I remember show you bald, cutting a cake, smiling, and posing for pictures. Was it reluctant, just to please us all, or whether you truly were happy that day, I do not know. I do not know if I wish to know. All that I wish I knew was that it was going to be your last birthday, and your last birthday with us.

You passed away exactly a month and 7 days later Ba. I was shocked. I was a child and did not know the significance of the cancer that you were fighting. Did I ever tell you that I loved you? Did I ever tell you that I wondered if you were one of those goddesses that are sent over to Earth to test people? Did I ever tell you that I believed you had the purest heart that had ever touched me? And boy, did I tell you that I was proud to be told that my personality matches yours?

I sit on the couch wondering when those pictures will fade, tear, and not be good enough to save anymore, and whether as I age, my memories of you will gradually fade away. I do not want to be sitting on a couch 15 years from now struggling to remember what you looked like, how it felt to rest my head on your lap and you stroking my hair, and how your gentle soft hands fed me as I throw one of those tantrums.

And so my dearest Ba, here is a weak attempt to capture those memories into one page. I hope that we meet someday up there where I know your soul is resting in peace.

I love you.

The new widow

She received a phone call from her father-in-law.

"Beti, your husband is no more."

Amidst his and her tears, she dropped the phone onto the floor. As her father-in-law's voice faded away, she could only see the haze of her bedroom through her glistening eyes. She imagined his 6 feet tall, muscular build laying on the hospital bed, lifeless and stone cold. She cried even more. Stretched out on her bed, her body shook uncontrollably as she buried her head into the pillow.

Last night, her husband had returned home at midnight, much earlier than usual. He was unusually quiet and his silence always scared her. It meant that something was amiss and she dreaded to think of the time when the silence would break. For two hours, she could only hear his heavy breathing and the ticking of the clock in the room. When she gathered her courage, she asked him if he wanted dinner. She only heard a grunt. She withdrew.

The next few hours, she watched her husband drink. With each drink that he guzzled, she felt her body muscles tensing. Her neck hurt. Her shoulders hurt. Her fists were clenched. Her breathing becoming slower. She counted the number of drinks he was having..counted and counted until she lost count. She awaited the news with fear. What had happened today?

She never found out. Her husband started vomiting. She saw that he struggled to breathe. He fell on the floor and continued vomiting even when on his back. She watched him. She turned her face away and watched him suffer. He stretched his hands out and she continued to watch him until he fell unconscious. And then she quietly walked into her bedroom and waited for the sun to rise.

The stench of his vomit kept her awake all night. In the morning, she called her father-in-law and told him the state of her husband. The ambulance was called. And now he was dead.

She cried harder. She looked at herself in the mirror and smiled through her tears. Her mouth would no longer be swollen, she would receive no more scars on her face, her bruises would now heal, and she was free.

Free from the clutches of an abusive husband.