"We belong to him, we return to him".
She cries, oh how much she cries,
the thought of his little feet, his big brown eyes, his small pouted lips
haunts her during the day and tortures her through the night.
The bags under her eyes, and the redness of her sclera, a sign of her restless nights.
His soft smile when she gives him her small quantity of bread, the searing pitch of his cries when
his tiny stomach growls from hunger sends a stabbing pain through her chest.
If only she could turn stone to bread, would that have saved him?
If only she could command rain to fall in this drought, maybe he would still be alive?
"Just a few steps more and we will find water." she had promised. A few steps turned into a mile,
She had carried him after he had walked 20 steps more, he was getting tired.
She smelled the water even before she saw it, she glanced at the poor child in her arm who
was too skinny for a normal child of his age.
He was getting weaker by the second, and she knew time was running out. She ran quickly and
sure enough, found a small stream of water. She poked her skinny feet into the water, It was cool,
she laughed like a lunatic. "Good" she thought, "the first drink my son will have in 5 days would be
cold water to soothe his hot belly". As she placed the little boy down on her lap and dipped her
skinny hand into the tiny stream to fetch him some water she finally realizes his eyes were closed,
and he wasn't breathing. He had not made it, she had lost him, he was gone and was never
coming back. With eyes heavy, and heart sore, she carried the little boy away from the water stream
and walked farther into the desert where she wrapped his tiny body in one of the few clothe scarf
she owned. She said a prayer over his body and buried him, there in the desert. She found a long
twig in the sand, drew an intricate pattern before finally buring the twig in the pattern to mark where
her son rests. "No more suffering for you my child" she whispered, before turning and running back
to where the stream was. She sat down near the stream, and sobbed repeating the words "We
belong to him, we return to him."
This Writing is a work of fiction, but dedicated to all the mothers all around the world who go through the pain of losing their children in front of their eyes. May God grant you all peace and strength to bear the loss. Amen.
