Sometimes, it is so painful for me to look at my husband, BAM. I used to call him, along with my two sons, the Muzaffar Men. He is the last remaining Muzaffar man. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He wasn't supposed to be the last one left.
Sometimes I look at BAM's hair, and instead, I see AMM's hair. AMM had hair that used to 'spike up" after it got wet. He was immensely proud of this fact. He even had me take a picture of his spiky hair! He got this hair trait from his father. Now, when BAM's hair spikes up like that, I feel so sad. It's almost as if I can feel my heart cracking a little bit more.
And then there are times I see the color of BAM's eyes, and the next instant I am seeing my QMM's eyes. QMM had the same brown shade of eyes as his father. He was also immensely proud of this fact. Out of all our children, he had the lightest eyes. His sister, MAM, used to lament that SHE should have gotten those eyes. And QMM, being QMM, would just smile and sometimes (okay, not sometimes, he would always) gloat.
Sometimes I stare at BAM as he is driving, just to find a glimpse of my boys in him. Other times, I just have to look away, for the pain is too great.
