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in a sea of boiling agony and I screamed like a wolf that howls in mourning.
I screamed like a bird that soars across the horizon. And all eyes were
on me and I was dying in the pain that engulfed me and swallowed me
whole. If only I could die I would be happy. Laying eyes on my son erased
the pain and closed the wounds on my face and body, it breathed new
life into me and assured me that our souls are real, and that our pain
however intolerable is fleeting and not in vain. I was afraid to touch
him as if he were made out of cotton candy and my fingers could reshape
him and turn him into nothing but so much sugar from which he was made.
My blood marked his body, proving that he was mine. My flesh, my blood,
a new life born of my womb. A new soul to sprout wings and fly if only
I could teach him. Suddenly all my fears and inadequacies as a mother
seemed very real. God trusts us with this great task and I felt so much
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to recall the fervor with which those brief shards of time were lived
and wept and dissolved into a dream filled with nothing more than ashes
of my memories. I held him in my arms feeling his flesh like crushed
velvet,
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