Hindsight...

There he was, dying. Doctors had lost all hope. They had given him a best case time frame of four months. I did not want to believe them. I hoped against hopes that a miracle would happen soon with the discovery of a life saving procedure. Daily, I browsed through a variety of resources to find any alternative cure for him. I wanted him to live, not because I needed his company, but because he loved life.

I started cooking routinely without making a mental note that it would be his turn to cook next. We started going out for movies more often and yet I compared him less often to the on-screen romanticists. I started buying small gifts for him without even thinking of a getting a return gift. I spent two whole days planning for his birthday. Strange enough, this time my plans were not affected by his efforts or lack of it for planning my last birthday.

I hated his buddies less and they started seeing him more often. Our home teemed with more fun and laughter now. I stopped asking our little son about whom he loved more. I started forgetting on what he had said on which occasion about whom in my family. May be I was not left with any time to do this amidst visits to hospitals and vacations. The purpose of my life seemed to find a cure for him. I even bargained in my prayers, that almighty, please let him live, even if that meant taking him away from me or our son not looking after me when I grew old and weak.

As I look back today, I find that those two months were the only time in the ten years spent together when I cared for him or anyone in the world for that matter ever, without any expectations. Strangely, that was the only time when my mind was at its peacest, even though dark shadows loomed viciously close-by. That was the only time when give and take had lesser meaning in my life. I was leading a life free of calculations. Those were the only two months when I was truly in love.