When the last parent departs their children mourn. Sorrow dominates the air. However, of all their off springs the is one whose grief is unlike her siblings especially when the father or mother reaches old age and so does this very child. It’s their first baby. This child who is steadily approaching her fifties lived a full life with her parents so her loss is not just losing her parents but rather losing a whole legacy.

I was a witness of this young couple waiting relentlessly for the arrival of their first child in the hospital and this very special moment marked my birthday. I remember my father’s sighs and my mother’s tears. I gave them the first kiss and they gave me the first hug. They taught me how to walk and I gave them their first lesson of parenthood.

We stepped to school together for the first time. I accompanied them in their journey as a couple endeavoring for their family. I was with them when they received the second child merrily telling me she was called my sister, and was happy to see their family grow. I watched my father sacrifices to make ends meet and my mother working hard to draw a smile on everyone’s face.

Being the first child, I was soon a partner for my parents on life’s long road. I helped them raise my siblings and was in charge of the house in their absence. I promised to give a good example for them to follow. We went through too much together. This child gave condolences to her mother when she lost her parents; her own grandparents and patted her father’s hand consolingly when he lost a beloved sibling or friend.

This very first child switched from just a child to a companion, a friend, a secretary and a trustworthy counselor. I witnessed their weakest times and their strongest times. I lived with them as two beginners that strife to make ends meet and enjoyed life when it started to prosper and flourish. I moved from them from a small house to a bigger one. 

Then this first child grew into a lovely bride and her father walked her proudly down the aisle. This child became a mother herself and her baby was the first to call them grandpa and grandma. Years flew and this child who held the hands of her parents through life’s journey was forced to drop one hand. Tears ran down my cheeks but I had to stay strong to support my father who just lost his soulmate.

From that day on, we then kept each other’s company. I day after day until the feared day arrived. Departure was announced and the last farewell was inevitable. My heart sank. A long memory tape was present in my mind. My grief is unlike everyone else’s and my tears mark a lot of special moments for both of us. It’s time to go and today my father did as my mother had done before; he bid me a last farewell. Now, I have to resume the journey alone. 

On the threshold of my fifties and I still need my father’s hand for support and comfort. As he flipped the last page and the book of life was sealed so did I. I was part of these pages. I was present in most incidents and moments. We were together through thick and thin. Now, I will hold my first child’s hand to resume the journey with a steady feet and a heart longing for the good old days.