Monday, September 12, 2011

A Child

“I'm scared,” his voice whispered.
“There's no need to be.”

“Will I know when?” he choked.
“We'll just wait and see.”

“It seems very dark here.”
“I know, take my hand.”

“Will you stay here with me?”
“Son, right to the end.”

Monitors sounds turned off,
the room was silent.

Our son, through sickness,
had been compliant.

Through all of the testing,
we’d fought for two years.

Now, his mom stood by him,
just fighting her tears.

Her voice having fled her,
not backing away,

from our son’s final breath,
but nothing to say.

His little hand convulsed,
as he gasped for air.

A tear rolled from his eye
and into his hair.

“It seems to be darker.”
“I'm sorry, my dear.”

“The pain doesn't hurt now.”
“That’s so good to hear!”

“I see a little light,
I think I should go.

But I'm so scared daddy,
I want you to know.

I love you and Mom both,
with all of my heart.”

“We love you too, baby.
We can’t change that part.”

His little hand went limp,
with a final sigh.

His labored breathing stopped.
I said my goodbye.

She fell upon his bed,
crying in her grief.

She held his still body.
But found no relief.

My wife cried out her pain,
“Our son is dead!”

I sat down, held them both
Words could not be said

His life was why we lived.
His joy knew no end.

His laughter known by all,
he sang songs with friends.

I pulled her off his bed.
She fought to hold on.

“Please, darling, let him go.
His last breath has drawn.”

“We’re supposed to go first!”
She screamed through her tears.

“He should have lived longer!
He had only eight years!”

One more child taken,
one more child gone.

His life did enrich us.
We’ll still hear his song.

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