A Cupful Of Raindrops

“Daddy, why does it rain?” asked the little girl while she was carefully resting her chin on her father’s lap.  They were sitting on a wooden bench and were sheltered by a makeshift roof outside a small flower shop. She and her father were caught unprepared by nature’s waterworks.

 She stretched out her tiny palms across the heavens and watched carefully as little drops of water splashed down her hand. It’s not the first time she saw the rain, her father thought. But as he looked into her child wide-eyed in amazement, it must have been the first time that they saw it like that. And the first time that they experienced the rain—together. The little girl cupped both of her hands to gather more droplets and soon enough, her small self-made bowl was already cupful of rain. She flashed a big smile as she relished on her achievement. And so did her father.

“Look! I have rain in my hands!” laughed the little girl—obviously proud that what she accomplished was something out of the ordinary. There was a certain twinkle in her eyes when she said that, a twinkle that you see in children when they learn something new for the first time. It’s the sparkle that gets lost as one grows up into the world—that of innocence. She twitched her nose as the splashes from her cup tickled her face. And with every drop of heaven that she caught, her small red lips let out a giggle that would have warmed the hearts of those who heard it. The kind that would send every parent rushing to their daughters and sons to hug them. But her father thought that the sudden gesture of a hug would only ruin a moment so beautiful. So he resisted the urge to embrace his daughter. Instead, he let her play with the drops of water that fell from the sky.

Careful not to spill the cup of rainwater she had in her hands, she turned to her father and offered her achievement.

“Daddy, you can have the rain in my hands”, said the girl as she proudly showed her father what her little hands were able to gather.  She was careful in the way she held it; as if trying to protect a rare jewel or something fragile inside. And with a smirk, she let her father peer into her tiny cup. She sounded confident and happy at the same time, pushing her hands to her father’s direction in an offertory gesture.

Maybe it was something out of the ordinary—the father thought. It has been a long time since he had seen his daughter flash a smile like that. And he could feel warmth permeating through her smile which he thought has longed escaped his precious little creature. His daughter was once again alive—animated and full of vigor. Her eyes no longer looked like blank mirrors; her stares were no longer blank. She was laughing and smiling. For the past months, he feared that he had lost his daughter, his only source of hope. But as he saw at that moment, she was no longer a lifeless doll but a child of life. She was his daughter, his child once more. She was a kid again.

He pushed back a tuft of hair that fell to her ear and gently stroked her long ebony locks. Seeing that her pink headband has been slightly off place, he put it back nicely. He noticed how lovely it complemented his daughter—with glitters lining the edges and a small pink butterfly on the other end that fluttered as the girl moved. His little girl has developed a special fondness to this headpiece and wore it everyday even as she went to bed. She flaunted it to her playmates whenever she can and made sure to tell them that her mother made it for her.

Her mother. God, how she resembles her mother! Her cherub face, her big brown eyes and her small nose was hers. Her delicate features to the way she talked and walked was like looking at the smaller version of his wife. And he was thankful for it. His wife’s charm can sure captivate anyone who looked at her.  She was far from the conventional beauty, yes. But her look, as he put it was engaging—it makes you don’t want to avert your gaze from her. And he loved her more because of that. Even before their daughter was born, they were hoping that if they be given a little girl, that she take after her mother in every way she can.  He prayed hard day and night. And the heavens were merciful enough that he got his wish. After a dangerous pregnancy, a miracle was born.

“Daaaaaddy!” yelled the little girl which snapped her father out from his reverie. She was getting impatient as she held her hand long enough in vain. She certainly had her mother’s beauty, he thought. But she was just as impatient and grumpy as her old man.

“Here daddy, you take it.” she was expecting her father to take the rainwater from her. Her dad stretched out his hands and formed a cup with his callous and overworked palms as his daughter did a while ago.

“Okay, ready?” asked the little girl in a somewhat authoritative tone like an adult who was about to give instructions to someone ten years younger than her. Her father nodded in agreement like he played the role.

Her hands were trembling as she transferred the cup of rainwater she had just collected into her father’s hands. She was careful not to spill too much and when she spilled some, she bit her lip as a form of remorse and a promise to be more careful in her endeavour. She did this ceremonial gesture for a good minute until all the silver drops of her achievement were safely in her father’s grasp. After the last drop, the little girl smiled as a parent would when a child does something good.

“Now, we can give the rain to mommy”, she suggested still flashing the biggest smile she had to her dad.

The father looked into the eager eyes of his daughter. He glanced at the silver mirror he was holding inside his hands and saw his own eyes— they were red and obviously tired from not having rested for weeks. The face of the man reflected in the small pool of rainwater he held before him was no longer recognizable. His cheeks were gaunt and the patches on his face indicated he hasn’t been shaving for weeks. Most of all, the man looked weary and exhausted, like he aged six or seven years in a span of days. He was astounded of what he saw and felt disgusted at the same time. Disgusted because the man he saw was far from his youthful twenty-five-year-old self—the man was a liar. A liar who was keeping something from his daughter.

He looked back at his little girl and fought back the tears from coming down. He fought hard. At that moment, all the fiber of his being just wanted to break down. He wanted to cry because he was tired. Tired of everything, tired of putting up a brave face for everyone. He was tired of lying to his daughter. He was biting his lips so hard that for a moment he thought he tasted blood. His limbs were trembling that the rainwater he held in his cupped hands was splashing against the sides of his palms.

But he was careful not to show too much emotion, and not in front of his little princess. He can’t afford to display his weakness in front of someone who has to look up to him as the rock to hold on to from now on. He felt ashamed for almost giving in to the temptation of being weak. Yet how long can he put up with the charade? A man can only bear so much. And looking at his daughter, a vision of his wife, his only source of life, he gathered enough strength to somehow muster a half-crooked smile.

“Mommy doesn’t need water baby... Here, let’s give it to this flower so it will grow strong and beautiful, just like you.” he said and he directed his cupped hands into a nearby pot of a withering rose plant. His daughter shot him a confused look. Why would her father waste the rainwater she carefully collected into something as inconsequential as a dying plant?

The little girl looked at the pot where her father just poured all the water from his cupped hands.  The plant looked ugly, she thought. The leaves were lined with brown crippled edges showing that they were somehow withering. The twigs looked so dry that they would easily break under a gust of gentle wind. And some of the off-red petals had holes in them, suggesting that bugs and worms have had it for dinner. But her father didn’t see the imperfections she saw, and to him it was more important than her mother that he gave it the water she intended to give her.

“But why?” asked the little girl, obviously hurt and disappointed that she wasted her efforts for nothing. “That water is for mommy!” she said in anger as she wiped the single drop of tear that fell from her eyes.

“Mommy doesn’t need water anymore, sweetheart. She is resting now..." he said as he took his daughter’s wet hands and wiped it dry with his shirt. It was no longer raining hard and all was left was a gentle drizzle that gave the cold street pavement a mantle of mist. He figured that it was already safe for them to walk without being drenched. It was getting late and it was time for them to head back.

 “Did you know that mommy made it rain? She’s up there in the clouds and saw that poor flower was thirsty. That’s why she made it rain. For you to be able to give that little rose flower the water that it needs to grow and live”, said her father as he took her little hands and started walking.

"Mommy doesn't need water anymore, baby. She makes water fall from the sky. She's the rain now."

They headed towards the hospital morgue.

The girl looked up at the grey sky and closed her eyes as little drops of rain splashed down her face. She held out her hand again. She smiled. And from thereon she would always know the reason why it rained.