Today I gave away almost the last of my children’s toys. They are not children any more, they have not been for some years, they are grown up but each time parting with toys or clothes from their childhood has been heartbreaking.
The toys especially are woven so deeply with their childhood memories, from the time of visiting the toyshop, where they would choose some toy with shining eyes, fascination and innocence, to all the moments spent playing with them, unleashing their imagination, creating their own little world and building it together, down there on the carpet besides their bed.
Holding on to the toys was holding on to those memories, to the innocence, to the acts of being engrossed in simple pleasures, to the true joy and happiness they discovered, which had nothing to do with spending huge amounts of money or desiring great gifts. They never asked for much, so it was always a pleasure to give them and each gift was welcomed with sheer excitement and delight.
My happiest times have been and still are the times spent with my two girls. I have played with them, read to them and with them, exchanged many bits of wisdom with them, taught and learnt in turn, laughed and danced, enjoyed cartoons, movies and music and always discovered new things.
While I hold on tight to childhood memories, I realise we are still making memories, each moment, each day. I fear and yet hope for the day when they will find their own lives and make real worlds of their own and therefore each memory we make now is something to store in my treasure house.
We have lived in this apartment for almost fourteen years now, during those fourteen years the last five have been spent in India, yet we were always coming and going. Keeping a rented three bedroom apartment was not very viable but we could not let go, as it held many memories of the girls’ growing up days. My husband and I are emotional in many ways. Sometimes I would come down here alone, leaving the girls in India, those times we were never able to go into their bedroom. They did come here often with me but each time we left my husband would leave their room untouched till we returned. Only on the day we were coming back, would he get new sheets, make their beds and place single roses and chocolates on all our pillows. A big bouquet was always waiting for us on the dining table, with the message “Welcome Home Girls!”
In those days sometimes I would wake early, at six am. I would stand by the window and watch the school buses and remember all those years when I went down to see the girls off.
Some times we were late and then we would rush up, get my husband out of bed, and drag him in his PJs, to chase the bus through the lanes of our area before it reached the ring road. Most times though we would be early and my neighbour Kuku and I would exchange a few pleasantries while we waited for the buses for our children. Other neighbours would pass us on their way to work or school and we would exchange greetings. The buses would come almost at the same time and we would say bye to our kids and come up together in the elevator sharing a laugh or two. We are the only Indian family in our apartment building, all the rest are Arabs of different nationalities. Growing up, playing with children from so many countries has been a good experience for the girls.
As I would stand by the window remembering, Kuku would still be down there, seeing her children off and I would also see my children’s bus still making its rounds, it always brought a lump to my throat. Things still went on as they had before, only we were not part of it any more and yet, though we had moved on, it remained a part of us and always would.
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I am adding this here. It was years later when my younger daughter was a medical student in Prague and I left her to come home. Each flight away from her was heartbreaking
Time for Nashledanou
Airport departures are a heartbreaking time of goodbyes. Tight hugs and kisses trying to absorb all the feelings of holding the loved one into one’s heart till we meet again. The feelings numbed by rushing to immigration, security check, boarding , finding one’s seat, storing luggage overhead, squeezing into one’s seat especially when it is a window seat and one has to request the two rather burly gentlemen in the other seats to get up so you can get in. so many practical matters that arrest the mind to the present, that pause the heartbreak for the minute. Then the lonely take off as one flies into the blue yonder away from the city where you left your loved one. Thinking of her on her lonely metro ride back where earlier we both travelled together. The pretty green, brown and yellow patchwork quilt of Czech fields glows in the last golden hour of the day. The sky above is blue but there is a scattering of clouds on the horizon. For a moment the scene distracts the reverie
Has she gone with her friend to clmb the hill she mentioned earlier? Divoka Šarka, I hope she has. I so want her to be happy and safe and successful. This heartwrenching parting only worth for the thought of giving her a chance of a better life, a better future.
Flying over the scattered clouds now I think of last night. Holding her so close to my heart. She was fast asleep, my lovely girl as I carressed her silken hair, kissed her fingers. I freeze the memories, each precious memory, the walk through the narrow twisted lanes behind Prague Castle, the absolutely delicious Mexican dinner, it was a lovely last evening. We would have walked over the bridge but it was so cold and windy, could not wait to get home. I freeze the memories, the funny chatter and the serious conversations. I miss you my child, my sweet, funny and highly intelligent child. Take care and be safe. I cannot wait, till we meet again.
Very touching!
Most touching and reminiscent! When we moved from Kansas to Arizona, my mother gave my black and white teddy bear to good will, along with a number of other things. And now 55 years later I “still” miss that bear as I had him since I was about two years old. Strange what one remembers from their youth- what they find important in their memories decades hence?
Just one of those odd things about real life and unforgotten pleasures. In fact- I remember when I was abut five years old, walking with the bear out back in late autumn as my mother hung clothes with clothes pins. I found a dropped cloths pin on the ground, and in playing with it accidentally clip it to my earlobe and it hurt and I did not know how to remove it and started bawling and my mom had to chase and catch me to remove it. Was I hurt? no- just scared. but with my parents both gone- it is a fond memory.
nice penning on this blog- very nice :):)
Len