Holding Hands

I thought I wouldn’t last 10 minutes. But I was there for nearly an hour. Everyone was amazed that we had so much to say.

We talked about a lot of things. Local politics, mutual acquaintances, relatives, my social life, his thoughts on life, the people sleeping on the beds next to him.

We were very relaxed. Very casual. Very friendly.

A friend called up to say hi. To check up on him. So I passed the phone over.

There was a delighted smile on his face as he yakked animatedly with my friend. He couldn’t hear the voice very well and handed the phone back to me after a while. But not after some friendly chatter.

I looked at him sitting cross-legged. Garbed in a hospital gown. Sipping hot milo. And my heart ached. I wanted so badly to bring him home where he belongs.

“It’s getting late, time to go home and bring your mother out for dinner. Don’t forget to buy back food for your brother,” he said.

“Ok, let me pray for you first.”

And for the first time since I can’t remember when, my dad took my hand in his. We bowed our heads and I prayed for him. For his health to be restored. For him to come back home.

I waved at him cheerily as I left. But when I got into the car, the tears came. I miss him.

Updates as at 30th June: My dad has been discharged from the hospital and is much better now. Thank you so much for your prayers, well wishes, calls and loving concern. They are much appreciated…

Photo Credits

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