Wednesday, May 01, 2013

a last page...

It was mother's day.
The heavy iron saturated odor from his blood filled her nose, brain cells, and caused a chemical reaction in her body.   He screamed in terror for the sake of terror because he did not know the truth...he was not dying, but he felt as if he might.  She held him in her arms and looked at the face she loved beyond her own flesh, beyond her own soul.  His face, torn in 3 places, she tried to gently push back into place, trying to make his features familiar once more, but it was to no avail.  A plastic surgeon and prayer were needed, and needed soon.
He screamed, she shhhed, and he screamed above her voice in panic.   Only when she said, "Son, we need to pray." did he stop screaming, and immediately, with the epic faith of an 8 yr old, he simply said, "Dear Jesus, I need a miracle."

Unsure if there was brain damage, she sifted through her mental files and training.  She asked simple questions like, "What is your whole name?  When is your birthday?  Who is the President?  What year is it now?  Can you add 70 +30?"   He answered correctly and quickly.  A temporary peace settled over her as she thought to herself, "For now, at this moment, he is ok- at least for now- I will not lose him."

The Ambulance finally arrived.  All at once, when the paramedic came to take her son, her fear of letting go of him, and yet the intense understanding that she must trust the stranger in the blue jump suit, was a battle of wills like none other, all played out in her mind and heart.  A bloody white flag of surrender, and a faint hope her son would be in capable hands is what released her grip, but few realized how close she came to brink of madness in the seconds before.   No one ever imagined.

It was at this moment, as she stood up, she realized the blood from his head wound had soaked all the way to her flesh.  His blood.  His precious blood.  The child she knew so well externally...now she knew something of him internally.  It was awful knowledge. Red, thick, and sticky, the smell alone would leave a scar on her soul. 




2 comments:

soandsosaid said...

Yikes. True story? Drama? Hits you in the gut regardless...

Mayden' s Voyage said...

Yes...true story about my son.
But I was trying to write something like a "last page" of a book, and I didn't really get the effect I was looking for.
I'm going to keep trying. I want to write something which will make a reader want to tear through the first 200 pages to find out how Jack ended up dead, and Tava on a raft in the pacific, and Marilyn on suicide watch after falling into an ice cream vat at the local creamery- and better yet- how they were all connected to each other :) It would be a fun exercise to write a story in reverse...but maybe harder than writing one straight through?
It's always good to see you here. And btw, my son completely recovered, but he did require 58 stitches across his forehead and face. It was a terrifying and simple bike accident. We were lucky- and prayers were answered!