Bald-headed
Ch. 33

And after our son died, the little man who had a face similar to his father. . . . It was the hardest time we have ever been through, and those words still hold true today.

In times of sorrow and hurt, I will embrace you and swing you in my arms, and take from you our sorrow and make it my sorrow. When you cry, I cry, and when you get hurt, I get hurt. And together we will try to withstand the deluge of tears and despair and make it through the hollowed-out streets of life.

I paused for a moment, remembering it. She was four years old at the time, still a baby. I've lived dozens of times longer than him, but if asked, I would trade my life for him. It's a terrible thing to outlive your son, a tragedy I didn't expect to happen to anyone.

I did my best to hold back the tears, sift through even more to clear my mind, and find the next one from our twentieth birthday, something much easier to think about.

When I see you, my dear, in the morning before taking a shower or in your studio covered with paint and matted hair and tired eyes, I know that you are the most beautiful woman in the world.

I continued on, this correspondence of life and love, and I read dozens more, some painful, most moving. At three o'clock in the morning tiredness came over, but I had reached the bottom of the pile. There was one letter left, the last one he wrote for me, and I knew I had to move on.

I lifted the seal and wiped the two pages that were in front of me. I put aside the second page and moved the first page to better lighting and started reading.

My dear birundasih, my,

The porch was silent except for the sound that floated from the shadows, and for once I was at a loss for words. It was a strange experience for me, because when I think of you and the life we have shared together, there are many things to remember. Memories for a lifetime. But to put it into words? I don't know if I'm capable. I am not a poet, but poetry is necessary to fully express my feelings about you.

So my mind floated, and I remembered and thought about our life together when I made coffee this morning.

The eldest was there, so was the youngest and they both fell silent as I walked in the kitchen. I saw them crying, and without a word, I sat down beside them at the table and held their hands.

Do you know what I see when I see them? I saw you first, the day we said goodbye. They resemble you and how you used to be, beautiful and sensitive and hurt with the pain that comes when something special is taken away. And for reasons I'm not sure I understand, I was inspired to tell them a story.

I told them about your mother who suddenly came to warn us about Ali the next day— and they looked just as surprised as we—and yes, they did, I even told them what happened later that day, after you returned to the city.

That part of the story never left me, even after all this time.

Even though I wasn't there, you explained it to me only once, and I remember admiring the strength you showed that day. I still can't imagine what comes to mind when you go into the lobby and see Ali, or what it's like to talk to her. You told me that you two left the inn and sat on a bench near the old cathedral church in the city center, and that he held your hand, she said, even when you explained that you should stay here.

I know you care about him. And her reaction proved to me that she cares for you too. No, he can't understand losing you, but how can he? Even when you explained that you always loved me, and it wasn't fair to him, he didn't let go of your hand.

I know he was hurt and angry, and tried for almost an hour to change your mind, but when you stood firm and said, "I can't go back with you, I'm so sorry," he knows that your decision has been made.

You said he just nodded and you two sat together for a long time without speaking. I always wondered what she was thinking when she sat down with you, but I was sure it was the same as I had felt a few hours before. And when he finally drove you to your car, you said he told you I was a lucky guy. He behaves like a gentleman, and I understand why your choice is so difficult.

I remember when I finished the story, the room was silent until the elder finally stood up to hug me. "Oh, Father," he said with tears in his eyes, and though I wished to answer their questions, they did not ask him. Instead, they gave me something much more special.

For the next four hours, each of them told me how much we, the two of us, meant to them while growing up. One by one, they told me about things I had long forgotten. And in the end, I cried because I realized how well we had done in raising them.

I'm so proud of them, and proud of you, and happy with the life we've lived. And no one's gonna take it. No. gabe. I just wish you were here to enjoy it with me.

After they left, I fell silent, rethinking our lives together. You are always here with me when I do, at least in my heart, and it is impossible for me to remember when you are not a part of me.

I don't know who I would have been had you never returned to me that day, but I have no doubt that I would have lived and died with regret that fortunately I would never have known.