The piano lay deserted in a corner adorned by specks of dust which glistened in the sunlight that streamed in through the door. I stood in the doorway and gazed around. Everything looked at brought back memories; memories of Joy, of sorrow, of laughter, of tears, of anguish. Memories which had become the essence of my existence. The fragrance of those joyful days lingered in each and every part of the house. Glimpses of the past danced about my eyes, I could hear his voice in a distance. His deep, loving voice calling out to me. “Tanya, Tanya”

“Tanya,” my mother’s voice rang out as the and vision faded away. I turned around to see tears falling shimmering in her eyes and noticed my own coursing down my cheeks. I hugged her and birthday we both wept in unison, as ghosts of yesterday not engulfed us.

It was the first time we had come to the bake farmhouse after Dad’s death almost a year ago. This was the last place we had visited before his sudden death. But his presence could be felt in the house, his warm tender smile, conveying his the overwhelming love that he had for me, his jokes which had never failed to amuse me, his worry at my smallest sneeze, his pride, which gleamed in his eyes whenever he called out to me , his dreams and aspirations which had always warm me to work harder and his high up ideals, principles and morals of life which he had always down before me as the basics of education.

Mother had never really recovered from the shock of father’s death. She had built an ice wall around herself where she battled with life’s injustice and constantly recalled her trauma. She allowed no one to break the wall. Her life now revolved around me and all the pleasures of life had become a distant dream.

The next day was my mother’s birthday. remembered how happy Dad and had decorated the drawing-room with flowers and stuck “We love you” banners all over the house. Father and I had baked a cake which had turned out to be half burnt but which had been compensated for, by the excellent Chinese dinner which had been a “Dad Special” We had sat and talked late into the night and I remember falling asleep in my Dad’s lap.

I wondered what I should do for mother birthday this year. Then a thought struck me. Why not decorate the drawing room with the flower just the way we ‘ve done last time? I might even bake a cake and hopefully a good one. It would bring alive a beautiful memory.

As I plucked the bright roses and sat down to decorate them I felt almost as if! was reliving the past. It was almost as if the father was there and we were doing this together. After mother went off to sleep I sat up all night, decorating the drawing-room. On impulse, I put a banner with “We Love You” right in front of the bed on the mirror so that she saw as soon as she up. Having decorated the room I wearily off to sleep, with an empty aching in love.

The sound drifted through the air and I woke up with a start. I must have been dreaming. I came downstairs, cautiously afraid that it may stop. I looked down at the living room and gazed in wonder. My mother was playing the piano. She was playing father’s favorite song, “Clair de Lune,” something she had stopped doing after father’s death. I looked at my Dad’s photo on the table. There he was smiling, looking at me with laughter in his eyes. I could feel the power of Love.

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