Alone With Your Memory

Alone With Your Memory

I’m coming home…” 

Those were the last words that you said to me. It was via a phone that you must have borrowed from one of your Generals. The excitement in your voice was more soothing than the thought of you coming home to me. 

I shouldn’t have allowed you to leave when you said that only a General could use a cell phone.

You served in there for eight years but we got to talk less than eight times. You said less than eight words each time and I had to say the rest of mine to your picture. You told me to wait and waiting for you became my hobby. The thought that you would come home one day became my greatest consolation.

I remember our last outing together eight hours before your departure. Your bright eyes were brighter that afternoon and I wanted to stare forever. The smile could melt a thousand hearts and more; no wonder I was softhearted around you.

Every year, on the fifteen of January, I remembered your father with you beside me. I never thought that I’d ever remember you both with no one by my side. Was it my wrongdoing to have said that you took after your father? Must you follow his path and leave like he did just to prove my point?

I got a call of your home coming, so I got to call your friends over. You said you’d love some mushrooms, I prepared them and even cleaned up your room. 

Quickening your homecoming would normally be my pick among many other options. It was yet my chance of beholding your melting smile again. 

I wouldn’t have you travel by train to see you faster. Because it was by plane, I don’t get to see you forever. 

It was supposed to be your home coming to me. It turned out to be your home coming to your Lord. 

Now, I talk to your face in a paper. It is slowly wearing out, all thanks to my uncontrollable tears. 

Rest in peace, my darling son. 

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