Dearest little kicking Seahorse,
Today your beloved grandfather, your papou, passed away. I gave you a fright when Marlen, your aunty in Sydney, called me and broke the news. I broke down myself. On the metro, heading home from work. A proper melt down; tears, howling and sobs. I held you and rubbed my belly. I ached – tormented that I am in Dubai, and not with our family by your grandfather’s side – and sadness from my selfish loss that the world loses a gentleman, and could not differentiate the physical pain from my anguish.
I was a mess, and I became ever more distressed thinking that what I was putting you through would result in an early labour. You remain one little tough Seahorse still inside of me and still bruising my right ribs. Here they are, two people who already adore you. One now looks upon us both from heaven, a star that God has reinvented him, and the other your Jiajia Dora, awaits our visit when you are born.