Therapy?

It was a beautiful morning.

The sun’s radiant beams pierce between the leaves of a mighty oak, lightly touching the moist, softened forest ground. The gentle stream nearby never rushes anywhere, content with its own steady flow, pattering along. Crickets and birds complement each other with their chittering and chirping.

Dad and I were in the middle of it all, trekking through a forest.

For his age my dad was surprisingly nimble. He took the lead, taking one sure step after another, through slippery rocks and muddy thrushes, he knew his way around. I was struggling behind. My boots were muddy, I nearly slipped and fell a few times, and I let imbalance get the better of me a few times. The distance between dad and I grew.

He stopped and looked back suddenly, and with his world-weary face, ever the patient, he beckoned me to follow his lead.

I’m trying, dad. I’m trying very hard to keep up with you.

*********************************

We were in the home kitchen, a delightful mingling of smells taking place. Of course. Mom knows her way best around the kitchen. She knows I’m not eating well at work, and she was teaching me how to cook a fabulously elaborate dish. Something which not only smelt like heaven, but something I would probably only try to do once or twice and spend the rest of my life wondering why my mom did it so much better even if it was with the same ingredients.

"Mom, you know I can’t cook this. It has too many steps, and my working hours are crazy."

"You can do it on Sundays."

"Mom, I work on Sundays too, remember? There’s hardly any time for myself here."

"Don’t be like that, son. Your father went through it too, and I’m sure you will."

"I bet father didn’t have a whole department biased against him in the posting he hated most."

"I raised you to be strong, I’m sure you can handle anything life throws at you. Look how far you’ve gone…"

"But mom, it’s so hard…"

"Let God deal with them. You just do your best."

"Ok mom."

"Now have a bite, before it gets cold."

*********************************

It was an early, strangely dark morning. As dark as dusk, and cold too. Father just braved the cold to take away breakfast for the whole family. My sister, being the late riser, has naturally not awaken yet. Dad, mom and I started breakfast anyway.

In this circumstance, amidst the darkness and the soon-to-be-cold food, strangely I felt a warmth. A warmth that I have not felt for eons. A very long time ago. The glow from both my parents. And although we were doing something as ordinary as having breakfast, I have not felt so safe, and assured, and happy for as long as I could remember.

I remembered the days when I used to take breakfast with the family for granted. How time and circumstance can change everything.

"Hey, don’t finish all the food. Leave some for your sis."

"Ok."

*********************************

It’s been nearly 8 years since my parents left. But even so, in dreams they live forever. I dream of them often when I need them most, when I feel lost, empty, and alone. This month I have dreamt of them three times already. They cheer me on, give me advice to hold on to, and make the days to come more bearable. And every morning I wake up with a smile on my face, and a tear in my eye. Even now, when I need them, they are still around, somehow.

Yet… I miss my parents more then words can ever say.

:’)