I watch as Saathi cajoles and sweet talks the twins into posing for pictures. It is a regular Sunday. Toys are lined on the stairs leading to our upper level. Laughter reverberates around the home. I watch dad and daughters soak up each other and feel a pang. This time of the year reminds me of my dad. Never one for physical expression, his eyes and smile conveyed silent support when I needed it. His trust in me the biggest gift I could have asked for. As this week marks seven years of missing him, memories sneak up on me when I least expect it. Picture frames, random snippets of conversation, my reflection in the mirror.
I turn to impress the memory being played out in front of my eyes before I move away. Sun streaming from the foyer window. The twins posing for the camera. Tenderness in Saathi’s voice. I feel gratitude course through me and a burst of tears that surprise me. It must be the hormones, I tell myself as I walk away.
Each year around Thanksgiving, I try to be cognizant of the abundant blessings in my life. Kids top that list amongst other things. This year however, the list is longer. I absently pat the gentle rise in my abdomen holding precious life within. Another few months before our family grows to accommodate another little one.
I mull over the path we have traversed and realize we have a lot to be thankful for. A family that entrusted their children with us. Friends who have grown to be family. Family that rails around without being asked. Most of all, the divine presence that graces us in the form of two cherubic faces that call me Amma.
As I read “Twas the night before Christmas’ and darkness falls all around us, I feel sentimental. I envelop my girls in a hug and send a prayer of thanks heavenward. For all the blessings so far and the ones to come in the future.