Cheeku,
In Manila I went to hear a crooner sing the jazz and the blues. I often find solace in sitting alone and listening to music. And this sense of aloneness is there even if there are people around. So many songs connect me to you in some way and I sense you sitting next to me and talking.
This time, she sang many songs that filled me with longing for the times that would never come back-times when my life was filled with the joy of having the two most wonderful sons in the world. And leading the pack of the two was Cheeku, because he was the elder one…it is so strange that death is the only certainty we know but through our children we can have a taste of immortality…we live beyond our funeral pyres in their dreams, their happiness, their sorrows…
I do not think that I can even now fully believe that you have gone away to a very distant land and that I would have to wait a long time before I can see you, that the next time I open the email I would not be overjoyed by a surprise email from you saying ‘Hi Dad!’ Or that my cell phone would not ring with a phone from you…I live between the real and the unreal all the time-hoping that this horrible dream would break and we would all laugh at the absurdity of it all…
The song that misted my glasses that evening was ofcourse ‘Autumn Leaves’. The first time I had heard the rendition by Benny Goodman but the one I always loved was the gruff and gravely singing by Louis Armstrong. But then it was just the beautiful words and the beautiful voice weaving the magic. All of a sudden on that Manila evening it reminded me of your going away so much…but the fact is that I remember you most of all almost every moment and at every turn of the season; before every festival; every day…
The autumn leaves drift by my window,
The autumn leaves of red and gold.
I see your lips, the summer kisses,
The sunburned hands I used to hold.
Since you went away, the days grow long,
And soon I’ll hear old winter’s song;
But I miss you most of all, my Darling,
When autumn leaves start to fall.
Love,
Dad