Last year, this month, I was happy that I was going to be a mother. I was expecting. Three months and counting. But one cruel morning stripped me of my happiness and I was rushed to the hospital. Two days and as the third day waned into the night, I was twisting in pain, tears rolling down my eyes as my body ripped off the final thread and made my body and soul empty and devoid of the life it harnessed.
I did not go for work. I was at home. I was depressed. I didn’t want to talk. My spirit had vanished and nothing remained. I was angry. After some days, I went back to work. I was working at another school then, teaching fourth and second grade students. I couldn’t drive the dark clouds away. I didn’t talk much. I broke out into sobs now and then. Sometimes, seeing those second grade children, I broke down. I had to try hard not to cry and push down the lump in my throat.
At that time, there was this seven year old boy who was autistic. I used to handle his special education needs. He would never look at anyone. He was always lost in his world. He will not talk to us as well. It took so much effort to make him speak. He muttered to himself but never replied to our questions. He hated anyone touching him and would shrink away as we tried to touch him.
The day, I went back to work, we had some practice in the school courtyard and the students were standing in a line. I was standing behind the boy. He suddenly turned and tugged me. As I stooped down, he touched my cheeks and silently looked into my eyes and smiled. After a few seconds, he turned and went back into his own world. I felt my eyes burn. That was the most beautiful “It is ok. Smile” I had received. Unspoken, unheard, yet felt. I will never forget him
