Resurrection

She threw the lacy wrap around her shoulders. It slid gently off her satin nightgown. The solitude of the night had ceased to perturb her. Making herself a cup of coffee she tuned to the radio station that they both loved. She cupped her palms around her mug letting the warmth spread through her hands before the liquid could warm her insides. She glanced at the coffee table in the living room. He was already there waiting for her. On that cold winter morning she did not need the coffee for the warmth, all she needed was a glance at him to infuse it into her being till it exploded into a smile on her face.

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She stroked her bloated abdomen gently and she could feel the form that love had metamorphosed into. She wanted his hands to feel them as well. Tears of silent desperation moistened her soft cheeks as her mind flipped through the pages of their photo album: their days in college, their graduation party, their first date by the riverside, their first kiss, the first time they made love…
She could feel the cold draught mock her need to be caressed by his tender touch. Memories of his laughter rang through her ears shattering months of the deafening silence she had grown accustomed to.

“Lost!” “Missing!” The headlines had screamed.

Her thoughts clung precariously onto a precipice called hope. “He will come back!” she shouted deliriously at the empty walls. But the desolation in those words echoed shaking her fragile hope. Her body pleaded her to let go and collapse into an eternal abyss so that miraculously his arms would wrap around her and transport her far away from the benumbed unfeeling world. But it was no fairy tale and his masculine hands were not there to lift her out of her misery. She yearned to stare into his deep hazel eyes reassuring her during every struggle that they would make it through. Instead all she saw was a hazy light on the ceiling that faded with every ticking minute until silence and darkness pervaded her mind.

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“Isn’t that the old Billy Joel song playing there?” he asked.
“Yes. Pretty old. Reminds me of the good old days…” she turned up the volume for him.
Her eyes were filled by the image in front of her. She felt as if she was walking into the past and almost said 'He is back'. ‘The same wavy hair. The same hazel eyes. The same aquiline nose. The same baritone…’
“Happy Birthday Mum” he wished her and smiled warmly.
‘The same smile. He is us.’, she looked at her son on the screen proudly. She was glad the pills hadn’t worked.