It will be good to see them again, and one of these days I will. Until then, there’s a lot of work to be done.

The following is copied from a March-2019 post (four months before my father’s passing) in Facebook.

GB: How many children do I have?
Me: As far as I know, only one. Do you have more?

GB: Where is that child, that one child of mine?
Me: Here I am
GB: Don’t, tell me, really? You are that child? Really?

GB: That little toddler, whose carefulness Kamala pointed out, who would go up and down the stairs near that open well in Kerala with so much care that we did not have to worry about safety, was that you?
Me: Yes.

GB: Kamala would sell some of her gold and come home happily with money. I did not give her much money and she would want a mosquito net or something else, and so she would sell off something. She was always so happy to have some money.
What did you call her?
Me: Mummy

GB: Really? That woman in the photo, she was your mummy?

Memory is such a strange thing. Old age and dementia is too.

One day it will all be OK again. Eternity is in our hearts; we feel it—that itself is proof that the sky, not the grave, should be our home. “Jesus saves Jesus saves”
🙂