I can't count to save my life. Maybe that explains my current profession.
But there is an automatic clock, calculator in my head. For instance I know for a fact without counting that Akif passed away exactly 220 days ago. Just like that. Isn't that the weirdest thing?
I remember almost photographically what happened on the day he died. What I ate for breakfast that day. (Actually I did not eat, I drank tea). What I was wearing when I drove to the hospital. That Nenda was crying with Airiel on his lap. What I was chatting about with the nurses in my room. Akif on a monitor. Doctors coming in and out. Younger doctors fascinated by Akif's condition asking me all sorts of questions (you can obviously tell by now what he suffered from is very rare).
Me being transferred on to a bed, wheeled to the operating room. They stopped by in front to let me see Nenda and Airiel. Nenda still crying. Me talking to Akif about fighting to the end before being wheeled in. Feeling his final kick.The operation, the doctors taking Akif away.
Me shivering in the recovery room. Pediatricians holding my hand telling me they are doing everything they can to save Akif. That Akif is a strong little fighter. That kind lady doctor pediatrician holding my hand as she told me Akif did not make it. Bonda coming in asking me about funeral arrangements.
Every single detail committed to memory photographically forever in my mind. Etched.
They say you are too painful to remember. But to me, you are just too beautiful to forget.
I miss you very much. Every day. Till we meet again, my little one.