As I took my seat on the train this morning, I looked out of the window in the hope of catching a glimpse of the sun. Not to my surprise, the heavens were still adamant that it was non grata on their premises despite it being April. Stubborn at they are, they would not budge to grant the sun the joy of weaving its rays, and caressing our skin so hungry for its touch and warmth.
The scenery was the usual flat green space with new houses dotted around randomly as if someone closed their eyes and sprinkled them around on the ground… the view was hardly one to take one’s breath away. My gaze turned to the people inside the train instead.
A pre-teen boy was sat a few seats down the train carriage opposite me; he caught my attention when he stood up to help an old lady with her luggage. This sight triggered my motherly mind which started wondering as it does sometimes… I started thinking about the baby boy that I had and who would have been of a similar age to this boy…wondering about what he would have looked like now, what likes and dislikes he would have had… about which sister he would have been drawn to most… whether he would have had the British stiff upper lip or the Algerian fieriness…
With the football chants from fans on the train growing louder, I wondered if he would have liked football, about how my life would have turned out had he fought harder for his life…
I wish he knew that he gave me so much joy on the day he was born that I said I wanted to have 10 children. I wish he knew that there was a beautiful world out there… he who saw of this world nothing but the harsh lights of the NICU and its uniformed staff…he who came to this world too soon…he who after 2 agonising months, on a fateful April day, 12 years ago stopped his fight, he whose mention gives me misty eyes but I have learnt to control the tears…
He who lies beneath the ground thousands of miles away from me, my only solace is that the sun is shining over him constantly.
