“Mommy?”
“Hmm…?”
“What does red look like?”
I glanced up, wondering how on earth to explain something so simple.
“Mommy? Are you listening?” she asked again, my beautiful little girl. She stared up at me.
“Yes sweetheart,” I answered, “Well, remember the time when you accidentally spilt hot tea all over yourself?”
“Uh-huh…”
“That’s how it looks like,” I smiled.
“So it’s burning?”
“Uh-huh,” I ruffled her hair fondly.
“Oh…” her eyes thoughtful as she went back to brushing her doll’s hair.
I gazed at her, feeling a jabbing pain in my heart, wishing I could do more for her. I had always scorned my mother’s protectiveness. I always thought she was being over-protective and was constantly wincing at her actions. Now, I realized, it was something she couldn’t stop. It was there, whether she, herself, liked it or not. I realized that I was repeating her actions towards my daughter. The feeling of wanting to shield her from everything and just keep her within her happy little bubble was natural and I couldn't stop it. As I took in her perfect features once more, I felt an overwhelming sense of love welling up within me. She had her father’s straight, dark hair. Otherwise, she was a complete copy of me. Except for her eyes. Again, the feeling of my inability to do more filled me. Her eyes were a mysterious cloudy, grey color. You see, my sweet little baby was blind.
I recalled the very first time I saw her. My husband at my side as I screamed as the pain ripped through me. However, I knew it was worth it as I heard the cries of my baby for the very first time.
“Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Toh, you have a baby girl!” a relieved and tired doctor announced. Tears began to flow down my face, “Let me see her!” I held out my trembling hands as I impatiently waited for the nurse to wrap her up. She was covered in blood and was nothing more than a tiny thing, no bigger than a stuffed toy, all wrinkled. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I held her tight, whispering “I love you” over and over again in her ears.
Weeks past, we begin to notice something was terribly wrong. “Why hasn’t she opened her eyes doctor?” my own eyes wide with fear. My husband beside me held on to my hands, quietly giving me assurances, trying to calm himself at the same time.
The doctor cleared his throat nervously, “Well, I can’t say for sure but sometimes, certain babies tend to take slightly longer than normal to open their eyes. But I’m sure that there is nothing wrong with your child. She seems to be a rather active one, so she should be fine.”
He was right. She soon opened her eyes. But they were a wrong color.
We tried everything, from modern to traditional medicine, but there was no changing the fact that my child was blind. How and why, we’ll never know. However, she was still our perfect little baby.
“Mommy?” my child asked again.
“Hmm…?”
“What color is the sky?”
“It’s blue sweetheart.”
“Oh…” she thought about it for awhile, her brows drawn together, “What does blue look like mommy?”
I grinned. It would take a long time before this conversation would end. “Well sweetheart, remember the water you showered in…”
