A Love Story, Etched in Time

I miss the endless conversations with Appacha, pouring out my heart, sharing my dreams, my fears, and my hopes. He’d listen intently, his eyes filled with love and understanding. And Ammachi, always there, a beacon of love and care. She’d fuss over us, ensuring we were well-fed and happy. Her laughter, a melodious tune that filled our home with joy.

I miss the family walks to church, the gentle rhythm of our footsteps, the shared silence, and the occasional burst of my brother’s laughter. I miss the quiet dinners, the comforting aroma of home-cooked meals. No fussy eaters in our family, we ate what was served, grateful for the food on our plates.

I miss the scoldings, the reprimands. They were tough, but fair. They shaped us, molded us into the people we are today. They taught us the value of hard work, honesty, and respect.

As we navigate our own lives, my brother and I often find ourselves missing them terribly. We miss their guidance, their love, their unwavering support. But we know they are always with us, watching over us like guardian angels.

In the quiet moments, when the world fades away, I often find myself longing for simpler times. I wish I could spend more time on the terrace, gazing at the stars, sharing stories with Appacha. I wish I could lay on Ammachi’s lap, feeling her gentle touch, her soothing words.

Being orphaned is a pain that never truly fades. It’s a void that can’t be filled. Yet, we carry on, grateful for the love and lessons they bestowed upon us. They made us who we are, and for that, we are eternally grateful.

We love you, Appacha and Ammachi.