My daughter squeezed my hand tight. Did she know something that I didn’t feel yet? Although our fingers are interlaced and clasped together, my eyes are not fixated on her, but I am unable to remember, months later, what has captured my attention.
Sometimes we learn in retrospect. This flicker of time happened on June 24, 2012, on the morning of my sister’s wedding. Studying the picture now I realize that my little girl’s eyes dart upward. Her gaze fixates on me, her mother. Her face exhibits a silence and a sadness that usually doesn’t appear in my many pictures of her.
The delicacy of her features automatically put a smile on my face. A perfect flower girl, her bun in her hair placed in the middle of her head, while her necklace rests in between the intricate design of her outfit. Glimpses of pink on her nails match her pink bindi on her head. But what brings me to tears is her expression. It is the first time I’ve experienced her sorrow in high-definition.
I believe in this moment she knows about life’s most natural betrayal. Letting go. And how everyday we are immersed in a series of endless goodbyes. We say goodbye to our spouses before they head to work, kiss our children as they skip to school, hit send on countless number of emails, say our nonchalant farewells before ending a phone call, and turn out the lights to our day before we go to sleep. On that day, at that moment, my daughter is learning about goodbyes. She realized she was letting go of her aunt, someone who she loves in the deepest part of her marrow.
There is something else. In between the gulf between my daughter and me, there is a picture of my father. Goodbye and letting go. That is what silence sometimes says.
Image by Greg Blomberg Photography
Welcome! I am a lawyer turned freelance writer, essayist, and editor. On staff at Literary Mama and the co-founder and co-editor of the literary journal, The Sunlight Press, my essays and reported work have appeared in The Washington Post, The Lily, Saveur, Civil Eats, Brain, Child, ESPN and elsewhere. I am currently at work on a memoir on grief and culture and how it provides perspective on life’s ordinary graces. I invite you to appreciate the ordinary with me. I hope my daily practice of seeing the magic in the mundane helps you celebrate and find more of these moments in your life too.
Yes. Learning that life is a “series of good-byes” is possibly one of the hardest lessons I learned as a child. Love this, Rudri.
Quite and extraordinary image, Rudri. Sad and poignant at the same time.
Beautiful image. Sad and poignant as BLW says, it moves me. Gorgeous !
A beautiful moment for sure. The moment was captured. I wonder what she’ll remember of this photograph when she is a young woman.
Oh my Rudri, this piece is stunning in its insight and layering. The photo says so much, but your excavation of it renders it bare, pins it poignantly to memory. Thank you my brave friend. Children have most amazing intuitive spirits. I am blown away at how my daughter is able to read me when i say nothing.
An amazing image, Rudri, and I see your father there. And this is a beautiful post. I have seen and felt those moments too, when my son experiences true sadness that goes beyond crying and fretting. He’s silent and he says nothing, but I feel and see it in his eyes and in his body. Sadly, when I think back I think I realize I had given him a lot of those moments…anyway, a lot for me to think about. Thanks for putting words to this.
That picture is heart-wrenching yet beautiful because she’s obviously feeling something painful and deep…but she’s looking to her mother to help her through it.
So beautifully put. I recently wrote about saying goodbye to my mother and father, as both have passed on within the past two years. It is hard to watch our little ones have to process it–and yet, I try to remember that they are wise souls in small bodies.