This story consists of some of the pleasures and agonies a mother experienced with her son, as he sprouted from infancy to childhood, in all their charm as she sensed it. The memories surfaced as I saw my son, Sashi, in the only way I could, through my heart, after he drowned. He was four. They gushed out so fast that it was eerie, as though they were put to pen by the prodding of some supernatural being. But the experience was far from easy or enjoyable. While I laughed at little Sashi's playfulness, my fist was clenched unconsciously as I heard the news, only to weep, uncontrollable and inconsolable, at his funeral. However, all the trauma was well worth it, for what other way did I have left to be with my son?