Extraordinary Little Prints

I have been searching for something tangible to remember my little Aabi since the day I held her for the very last time. My arms ache, and my body is in constant pain, yearning to lift my toddler and experience the tiredness that I didn't realize was the most beautiful feeling a mother could feel.

With this piercing desire to touch her, to feel her skin against mine, to experience again the comforting weight of her head on my shoulders and the tightness of her arms around my neck, I crave elements of her that I can hold onto to soothe my nerves each day.

A Sanctuary of Memories

Our apartment has started to feel like a sanctuary where I can sense her little prints on every piece of furniture, the walls, door edges, kitchen cabinets, drawer handles, study tables, baby spoons, and the living room throws. Wiping surfaces or washing comforters makes me extremely uneasy, as if I am erasing her last touch and the remnants she left behind. My hands tremble, and my chest tightens with a strange helplessness.

When she was in the hospital, a kind nurse helped my elder daughter capture Aabi's hand and footprints one last time as a memory card. I couldn't bear to witness this. The shift in circumstances, from this being a joyful activity for both my daughters to now capturing my baby's prints as a final keepsake, was far more than I could handle. My breath still stiffens, ice cold when I recall those hours.

Finding Extraordinary Treasures

A few days ago, in my search for something to hold onto, I stumbled upon these cards with her hand and footprints. Ordinary paint prints of my baby girl's left hand and foot. These small prints felt like the most extraordinary treasures, tucked safely in the top drawer of our living room.

The drawer where I hid stuff I didn't want her hands to reach. The drawer where I would hide away board game dice safely, permanent markers that could do quite the damage if in the hands of a toddler, and some visiting cards. That ordinary drawer held ordinary items, simply meant to be the least accessed by children looking for things to explore. And with these ordinary items lay the little transparent box with palm-sized cards having her ordinary little prints. Now seemingly extraordinary.

Why?

I have a picture of her when I helped her with hand painting. She didn't quite like the idea of getting her hands dirty when this was introduced as a creative activity at her day care/early learning. So, I decided to give her an exposure of the fun behind this. At home, in an ordinary moment, on a regular day, I colored her hands and feet with multicolored markers into stripes. I distinctly remember her expressions of aww and surprise at her mum herself making a mess. Her face changed, getting super excited seeing all the colors transfer onto her drawing mat as I had her stand up on it and then press her hands onto it. The sparkle in her eyes and the smile on her face lit up my entire house, the way it will never again now. Such a regular, ordinary moment, which every child might give every parent, is one of the few most precious memories of her that I am surviving on today.

Extraordinary Lives

Now, looking at these pictures and the cards with her hand and footprints, I question, when has she done anything ordinary? In the little time she had on this planet, she made sure she made it all extraordinary. Her mischievous actions, such sharp expressions, absolutely beautiful pronunciations, and a highly perceptive behavior, made her extraordinary in every sense.

While every parent feels this way about their child, when a child's life is cut short for absolutely no reasonable cause, these ordinary moments become extraordinarily precious. And you wish so deeply they weren't extraordinary. I long for her to have been an ordinary child, living an ordinary life like every other child in this world. I long to be that ordinary parent who gets to live admiring and cherishing their children through every phase of life. I wish her sister could have experienced the ordinary sibling moments of affection and joy, rather than the extraordinary silence that now fills our house.

Aabi ensured that I received nothing ordinary. Many parents like me have to learn to live with love for our child in our hearts only. These little children and their imprints, whether on our lives or on a piece of paper, become anything but extraordinary.

Creating Lasting Memories

I saw a friend who had her daughter's last prints etched into beautiful heart-shaped pendants, keeping them close to her heart, always there to touch and feel. Inspired by this, I got Aabi's prints permanently etched as well. These treasures are precious possessions, microscopic and unique impressions of my child, the only TANGIBLE parts of her that I can hold and feel.

All of me for all of you, Aabi sweetheart. I miss you.