A Day In The Life Of....
It's been a long, tiring day at work
The traffic was insane!
I chipped a nail trying to open my yogurt cup at lunch.
Uugghh! I hate when that happens!
Will my work emails ever stop coming in?
Have to get groceries on my way back home, I remind myself.
I have a huge pile of laundry waiting for me.
The family orders from Uber Eats. No one wants to cook today.
I scroll instagram mindlessly - fashion, cooking, dance reels and comedy shorts.
Make 'rum log cake' for Thanksgiving. A mental note.
My son reminds me he needs cupcakes for the bake sale in school tomorrow.
Why does he always remember these 'to-dos' at 9pm?
Several reminders later, my son begrudgingly goes to bed.
I give him a tight hug and kiss him goodnight.
He says he wants to be wrapped like a 'burrito' in his covers tonight.
I laugh at his innocence and wrap him in his space rocket bedsheet.
Gosh! I need to send out 'save-the-dates' for that dinner and birthday party in December.
I have to RSVP for my niece's wedding in January.
Did I miss calling the doctor's office today? That sinus is not going to cure itself!
I'm too tired to do my night time skin routine. Retinol-serum-mask-moisturizer or some other order?
Did I remember to charge my car?
The weighing scale needs new batteries; it's always five pounds over!
That reminds me, I haven't shown my face at the gym in months.
May be I should take up Pilates!
It's 10 PM. Nothing interesting on Netflix.
I grab my phone. Perhaps I should check instagram again and drift off.
I can hear the faint sound of the white noise machine drifting from my son's bedroom.
The moon look gorgeous shining outside my window.
A news channel I follow just shared a video.
The photographer who is also a dad, lost four of his five children in a bombing. Just one survived.
He also lost three of his siblings in the same attack. His four storied house reduced to rubble.
Dust and smoke everywhere.
He looks for his kin, digging through the debris with his bare hands.
Not a tear in his eyes.
He was on a mission. He just kept doing what he had to. No emotion. He found them eventually.
Prayers were whispered over their still, lifeless bodies that were wrapped in white.
My heart beat out of my chest; tears welled up.
I feel so helpless and guilty!
Why won't anyone stop this? Is no one concerned. These are children!
Where and how can I send aid? But will it ever reach them?
The comments section is rife. 'Thoughts and prayers", they say.
Some are angry; at the state of the world, at our governments, at our apathy!
Some are laughing. "They deserve it", they say!
How are they so cruel?, I think. These are someone's children!!
The aggrieved dad suddenly bursts into uncontrollable tears.
"Have mercy good God!", he cries with a primal ache from the pits of despair.
I try to put myself in his place.
I. Just. Can't. Fathom!
Someone yells in the background as they lower those babies in their makeshift graves.
"Put the youngest one in first... right in the middle. The older ones will go by his side", they say.
He gives each of his now dead children one last kiss, knowing that they won't wake up tomorrow.
A loud zooming rocket sound distracts everyone.
The surviving child, merely a year or two old, hangs on to his father, on his shoulder.
He is quiet. Unsmiling.
Those the most cold and unemotional eyes I've seen on a human.
The trauma this child will go through IF at all he survives, I lament in my mind!
My phone buzzes.
"Are you up for a girls night out this Saturday? Drinks and dinner at our usual watering hole!"
"Yes", I text back.
I set my alarm for 6 am for the next day.
It's 11 PM. I rest my head on my memory foam pillow and snuggle into the plush heated blanket.
Can't sleep. My mind's racing. I get up again and walk to my son's bedroom.
I kiss him and whisper how much I love him, in his ears.
I linger a little longer.
Oh! I can't forget those cupcakes for my son's bake sale. He loves the ones with choco chips in it!
My phone buzzes again. An update from Netflix.
The crime drama I love is back with a new season.
I need to catch up with it sometime this week.
I walk back to my room. The moon has shifted its position.
I can hear the owl hooting in the distance. I sink into bed.
Turning to my husband, I kiss him goodnight.
Lights out. The bed's warm.
