Paper Windmills and Stuffed Animals

Ani died on July 18, 2005. It was a sunny day in Baltimore. The Paediatric Intensive Care Unit was bright with rays, kind nurses and the hope to be there only for a short time.

… We went to Ani’s grave this morning. Her classmates had preceded us with flowers, colorful paper windmills, and two stuffed animals. It was a sunny morning and the clayish red-dirt cemetery grounds smelled of the burning sun. A few Japanese beetles criss-crossed the air in shiny green. We were alone at the cemetery.

As I looked at that earthly wound which swallowed our child, my mind went back a year. I suddenly was in the sunny Intensive Care Unit, holding our child in my arms. I saw her puffy face, the compressed cheeks under the oxygen mask, and those green-hazel eyes which stayed alert till the last smile. Till the last look she gave us. I relived her last exhale. And I almost felt the sudden weight of her body in my arms. The weight of the departed soul which will be upon our souls till the time comes for our own last look.

… Ani died nine days after her 12th birthday. Nurses, doctors, and children attached to lengthy tubes came to her room with a small cake. Balloons filled the room with color and wishes. I did not have a camera with me that day -- took a few shots with my phone-camera. The last birthday pictures. Yet pictures I look at almost daily. We all knew it may be her last birthday yet put on happy faces. And, more than anyone else, Ani knew it was her last cake. The type she liked -- ice cream cake with chocolate frosting. Her kidneys were not functioning; her body was poisoned with chemo, but she put on the biggest show! The low-definition pictures I have are those of a 12 year old girl, night-black hair, angel smile, and eyes which do not show that they already had seen the path of the passing. No, Ani was all about giving. Even on that day, she gave the moment the joy it deserved.

… This morning a dear friend sent me a note “Promise, next time you visit Ani’s grave, say a prayer from me. I never met Ani, but tell a prayer please, for the child I never had.”

… Ani was ours for 12 years. Now, in death, she is for all.

July 16, 2006