LAUNCH

About A Broken Family

by -

The white walls. The flowing white ceilings. The endless sound of footsteps. The women in white and their silent chatters with the patients who still had the boldness to smile and gist. The afternoon visits of the flies. The slow movement of the clock, steadily and silently ticking out your life. The tip-tap-tip sound of the very rare rains on the window panes.

That period of time when your own life flashes before your own eyes, like a black and white movie; that period, you notice the littlest of things. During this time, your whole life becomes bright headlights deep in the dark, gradually becoming dim and finally vanishes. This time, the big things break into tiny bits of worries, incessantly tickling the raunchiest part of your bowels.

The nurses are the worst hypocrites. They know what you are going through but will still go ahead and ask, “How are you feeling ma?”

You would be torn between two choices- to say how exactly you felt, emotional and physically. Or just lie and save your strength. Or maybe the nurses mean how you feel physically? They know you never feel well. Maybe it is just duty to ask. Your weak lips break into a smile, “Nurse Kike, I’m fine..”

A thermometer is fixed in your mouth. They want to know how hot or cold you have become. Hot means the pills administered will be double. Cold means worse. It is an imminent sign, especially in the feet.
***
Time used to be the weapon of the brave. Its rhythmic movement send signals to your brains, waves to your ears, odor to your nostrils. And then it remains a day or two to spend with the life machine. The machine with its ‘beepy’ voice telling you the stories of lives he had almost saved. It was a life machine, but we needed a life to learn how to live… And love.

Your life plays slowly before your own eyes. In the nurses, you see your young self. You remember the first time with him. He was the patient in room 004; he had malaria. An injection had created a love story. One which even family and children couldn’t tear apart.

Then came the kids. They were three in number, minus the dead one. The one who wants to marry, the optimistic one and the youngest one. You remember the times you weren’t there. The times their words echoed plead and attention in your ears. The many times you pushed them to the maid to have their assignments done. Those times you had those confrontations with the teenage girls. They are no longer kids, they are now females on the brink of adulthood.

You want to wish.. But no, you tell yourself. Your life is a done deal, and such deals requires no backing out. In life, you have learned that certain people have to be the one who leaves. Inevitably you ask yourself why you are not the kind of person who stays. Maybe you aren’t worth staying. Maybe people like you are meant to be laid in the ground so the foundations of Earth will remain in position. Maybe.. Maybe.. Maybe..

Then again, your problems becomes compounded.

Your children walk in with blank faces. You are a mother, you should see through the blankness. Yes, you see. You see the hidden tears, the fake laughs, the hidden meaning of the long stares. You break the silence.

-Are you all planning something? A surprise?

Silence. Everyone of them smiles; a shrewd one.

-Is someone ready to say something?

The eldest one begins; her marriage is a few weeks away.

-We talked to the family..

-Y’all thought that’ll surprise me?

-Your biggest wish..

A small, forced smile creeps on your face. You know where the conversation leads, but you are too scared to take the path. You don’t want to leave your children heartbroken. But they all possess broken hearts already, coupled with a broken home. A home gripped by the fearsome hands of mortality.

-The doctor says..

-Mother no.. No doctor mom. We changed the wedding date.

You are slightly irritated. It is one you can’t avoid. You strain your ears to continue listening.

-They want you there. We do.

-But I don’t want me there. I am going to a place far away from here. Leaving you guys is enough!

The youngest of the girls speak up. Her voice sends waves through your body. A kind of wave that makes you feel guilty. One which invigorates your body and reminds you that in a few days, you’d be totally unable to feel anything, including this feeling.

-Mommy, are you scared of death?

Nothing surprises you anymore, a symptom of dying.

-I’m not scared of death. It’s dying that scared me.

-Scared?

-Yes, scared. At this point, I try to just appreciate what I have left. But in those last final seconds, when my life stares at me like an assassin.. I know I will be afraid. Not afraid of dying itself, but of its meaning..

-What does it mean?

-Hmm. It means you will be without me. Without a tall woman as a mother. Daddy will come home and no one would be there to kiss him on his cheeks. He will call the maid and one of you will have to take his bag to his bedroom.

-Mommy, don’t talk like…

-Then the whole scene will reek of my absence…

-Stop it, ma.

It is the second daughter. The only one that remains herself in spite of danger. She is a made euphemism. Her long hair and dark eyes hide the fear and anxiety she feels. But her face shows up bright and bold. You believe she’s the strongest. But she isn’t. A strong human that can’t let his feelings go, like a stray bird, is he really a strong human? Or what is strength? Is it our ability to hide behind a façade of pain and come out looking bold? Or break through the wall of fear and pain while letting the hot, sticky pot of anger, fear, anxiety, sadness gnaw at your heart? You might never know; your time is short.

Then the father walks in. Your husband. You remember his face. He looks like he looked years before you married– thin, tall with a burning excitement in his eyes; they never seem to leave.

-Are you okay, honey?

-I am. I’m leaving soon.

-To where?

-To wherever this road leads.

-What are you saying?

You keep silent. Your mouth burn with words but the false excitement in it hold your withered tongue. You call her name. You believe it’s the last time you ever will. So you call it again.

-Anita, go ahead with the wedding on the proposed date.

-No, mummy. We all want you to be there.

-I will go with the memory of not coming to your wedding. That’s less heartbreaking. What is more heartbreaking is leaving you to him and not come visiting after nine months to bathe the new man in the house. What’s more heartbreaking is for me to stare down at you when the heavy turmoil of marriage falls on you. I will stare at you helplessly. Today..I want no tears…please..

But the tears wouldn’t stay in your eyes either. Like Flash runs down a Skyscraper, they run down your cheeks with enviable speed. You take a look at all of them. Husband and kids. You continue..

-Anna..

Her gentle euphemistic hands rest on yours. You force a smile.

-Have you seen a Potter at work?

-Yes mom. Mom where’s this…

-Like that clay, have you ever seen your life that way?

Silence.

-Our lives are clays. We often get it wrong. We don’t always need to mold it to what we want. At times we are made what we want by nature. It only takes time to realize we’ve been molded. A useless clay will form a hard path in the hot days, endlessly transporting people to their destinations. But on a rainy day, Anna..

Silence. A louder one.

-It throws people off it. It becomes slippery. Then, only wise and folks with common sense can cross the path.

-Mom..

Her touch on your hand has become a fearsome grip.

-It’s better to stay unmolded than to be molded by someone. Then a bridge becomes a cup..

The little girl speaks, obviously your new found knowledge amazes her.

-Does it mean I can’t design my life?

-No.. You can, always. But my baby, with your hands and with your heart..

Silence. They all slowly rush to you. A beep goes off in one of those machines you can’t remember its name. Your breathing’s changed. A man in white walks in and puts a mask over your face; an oxygen mask. Something with a sharp edge pierces your skin, causing an unmerited relief. Your eyes closes…

*****
Your large eyes open to faces staring blankly into yours. You are startled, but too weak to even react.

-Mom..

-It’s today ma. We thought you were gone. Mom…

You try to speak but your whole body tells you not to. It’s the wedding.

And it’s the day you leave. It’s the day you cross the lever.

*****
Everyone in the ward is doing something. Including you; you are screaming. A child is stuck in your vagina. The pain is unexplainable. He is there. His hands are glued to yours. You keep your eyes on him for strength- emotional and physical.

-He’s a boy!

You no longer feel the head in your legs. But your vagina hurts badly. He no longer holds you, his hands are busy with the red baby but his eyes are still on you; promising, silently telling you he loves you.

But the baby dies three months later.

That is how you sink into your pit of depression. You
-Are you all planning something? A surprise?

Silence. Everyone of them smiles; a shrewd one.

-Is someone ready to say something?

The eldest one begins; her marriage is a few weeks away.

-We talked to the family..

-Y’all thought that’ll surprise me?

-Your biggest wish..

A small, forced smile creeps on your face. You know where the conversation leads, but you are too scared to take the path. You don’t want to leave your children heartbroken. But they all possess broken hearts already, coupled with a broken home. A home gripped by the fearsome hands of mortality.

-The doctor says..

-Mother no.. No doctor mom. We changed the wedding date.

You are slightly irritated. It is one you can’t avoid. You strain your ears to continue listening.

-They want you there. We do.

-But I don’t want me there. I am going to a place far away from here. Leaving you guys is enough!

The youngest of the girls speak up. Her voice sends waves through your body. A kind of wave that makes you feel guilty. One which invigorates your body and reminds you that in a few days, you’d be totally unable to feel anything, including this feeling.

-Mommy, are you scared of death?

Nothing surprises you anymore, a symptom of dying.

-I’m not scared of death. It’s dying that scared me.

-Scared?

-Yes, scared. At this point, I try to just appreciate what I have left. But in those last final seconds, when my life stares at me like an assassin.. I know I will be afraid. Not afraid of dying itself, but of its meaning..

-What does it mean?

-Hmm. It means you will be without me. Without a tall woman as a mother. Daddy will come home and no one would be there to kiss him on his cheeks. He will call the maid and one of you will have to take his bag to his bedroom.

-Mommy, don’t talk like…

-Then the whole scene will reek of my absence…

-Stop it, ma.

It is the second daughter. The only one that remains herself in spite of danger. She is a made euphemism. Her long hair and dark eyes hide the fear and anxiety she feels. But her face shows up bright and bold. You believe she’s the strongest. But she isn’t. A strong human that can’t let his feelings go, like a stray bird, is he really a strong human? Or what is strength? Is it our ability to hide behind a façade of pain and come out looking bold? Or break through the wall of fear and pain while letting the hot, sticky pot of anger, fear, anxiety, sadness gnaw at your heart? You might never know; your time is short.

Then the father walks in. Your husband. You remember his face. He looks like he looked years before you married– thin, tall with a burning excitement in his eyes; they never seem to leave.

-Are you okay, honey?

-I am. I’m leaving soon.

-To where?

-To wherever this road leads.

-What are you saying?

You keep silent. Your mouth burn with words but the false excitement in it hold your withered tongue. You call her name. You believe it’s the last time you ever will. So you call it again.

-Anita, go ahead with the wedding on the proposed date.

-No, mummy. We all want you to be there.

-I will go with the memory of not coming to your wedding. That’s less heartbreaking. What is more heartbreaking is leaving you to him and not come visiting after nine months to bathe the new man in the house. What’s more heartbreaking is for me to stare down at you when the heavy turmoil of marriage falls on you. I will stare at you helplessly. Today..I want no tears…please..

But the tears wouldn’t stay in your eyes either. Like Flash runs down a Skyscraper, they run down your cheeks with enviable speed. You take a look at all of them. Husband and kids. You continue..

-Anna..

Her gentle euphemistic hands rest on yours. You force a smile.

-Have you seen a Potter at work?

-Yes mom. Mom where’s this…

-Like that clay, have you ever seen your life that way?

Silence.

-Our lives are clays. We often get it wrong. We don’t always need to mold it to what we want. At times we are made what we want by nature. It only takes time to realize we’ve been molded. A useless clay will form a hard path in the hot days, endlessly transporting people to their destinations. But on a rainy day, Anna..

Silence. A louder one.

-It throws people off it. It becomes slippery. Then, only wise and folks with common sense can cross the path.

-Mom..

Her touch on your hand has become a fearsome grip.

-It’s better to stay unmolded than to be molded by someone. Then a bridge becomes a cup..

The little girl speaks, obviously your new found knowledge amazes her.

-Does it mean I can’t design my life?

-No.. You can, always. But my baby, with your hands and with your heart..

Silence. They all slowly rush to you. A beep goes off in one of those machines you can’t remember its name. Your breathing’s changed. A man in white walks in and puts a mask over your face; an oxygen mask. Something with a sharp edge pierces your skin, causing an unmerited relief. Your eyes closes…

*****
Your large eyes open to faces staring blankly into yours. You are startled, but too weak to even react.

-Mom..

-It’s today ma. We thought you were gone. Mom…

You try to speak but your whole body tells you not to. It’s the wedding.

And it’s the day you leave. It’s the day you cross the lever.

*****
Everyone in the ward is doing something. Including you; you are screaming. A child is stuck in your vagina. The pain is unexplainable. He is there. His hands are glued to yours. You keep your eyes on him for strength- emotional and physical.

-He’s a boy!

You no longer feel the head in your legs. But your vagina hurts badly. He no longer holds you, his hands are busy with the red baby but his eyes are still on you; promising, silently telling you he loves you.

But the baby dies three months later.

That is how you sink into your pit of depression. You
-Are you all planning something? A surprise?

Silence. Everyone of them smiles; a shrewd one.

-Is someone ready to say something?

The eldest one begins; her marriage is a few weeks away.

-We talked to the family..

-Y’all thought that’ll surprise me?

-Your biggest wish..

A small, forced smile creeps on your face. You know where the conversation leads, but you are too scared to take the path. You don’t want to leave your children heartbroken. But they all possess broken hearts already, coupled with a broken home. A home gripped by the fearsome hands of mortality.

-The doctor says..

-Mother no.. No doctor mom. We changed the wedding date.

You are slightly irritated. It is one you can’t avoid. You strain your ears to continue listening.

-They want you there. We do.

-But I don’t want me there. I am going to a place far away from here. Leaving you guys is enough!

The youngest of the girls speak up. Her voice sends waves through your body. A kind of wave that makes you feel guilty. One which invigorates your body and reminds you that in a few days, you’d be totally unable to feel anything, including this feeling.

-Mommy, are you scared of death?

Nothing surprises you anymore, a symptom of dying.

-I’m not scared of death. It’s dying that scared me.

-Scared?

-Yes, scared. At this point, I try to just appreciate what I have left. But in those last final seconds, when my life stares at me like an assassin.. I know I will be afraid. Not afraid of dying itself, but of its meaning..

-What does it mean?

-Hmm. It means you will be without me. Without a tall woman as a mother. Daddy will come home and no one would be there to kiss him on his cheeks. He will call the maid and one of you will have to take his bag to his bedroom.

-Mommy, don’t talk like…

-Then the whole scene will reek of my absence…

-Stop it, ma.

It is the second daughter. The only one that remains herself in spite of danger. She is a made euphemism. Her long hair and dark eyes hide the fear and anxiety she feels. But her face shows up bright and bold. You believe she’s the strongest. But she isn’t. A strong human that can’t let his feelings go, like a stray bird, is he really a strong human? Or what is strength? Is it our ability to hide behind a façade of pain and come out looking bold? Or break through the wall of fear and pain while letting the hot, sticky pot of anger, fear, anxiety, sadness gnaw at your heart? You might never know; your time is short.

Then the father walks in. Your husband. You remember his face. He looks like he looked years before you married– thin, tall with a burning excitement in his eyes; they never seem to leave.

-Are you okay, honey?

-I am. I’m leaving soon.

-To where?

-To wherever this road leads.

-What are you saying?

You keep silent. Your mouth burn with words but the false excitement in it hold your withered tongue. You call her name. You believe it’s the last time you ever will. So you call it again.

-Anita, go ahead with the wedding on the proposed date.

-No, mummy. We all want you to be there.

-I will go with the memory of not coming to your wedding. That’s less heartbreaking. What is more heartbreaking is leaving you to him and not come visiting after nine months to bathe the new man in the house. What’s more heartbreaking is for me to stare down at you when the heavy turmoil of marriage falls on you. I will stare at you helplessly. Today..I want no tears…please..

But the tears wouldn’t stay in your eyes either. Like Flash runs down a Skyscraper, they run down your cheeks with enviable speed. You take a look at all of them. Husband and kids. You continue..

-Anna..

Her gentle euphemistic hands rest on yours. You force a smile.

-Have you seen a Potter at work?

-Yes mom. Mom where’s this…

-Like that clay, have you ever seen your life that way?

Silence.

-Our lives are clays. We often get it wrong. We don’t always need to mold it to what we want. At times we are made what we want by nature. It only takes time to realize we’ve been molded. A useless clay will form a hard path in the hot days, endlessly transporting people to their destinations. But on a rainy day, Anna..

Silence. A louder one.

-It throws people off it. It becomes slippery. Then, only wise and folks with common sense can cross the path.

-Mom..

Her touch on your hand has become a fearsome grip.

-It’s better to stay unmolded than to be molded by someone. Then a bridge becomes a cup..

The little girl speaks, obviously your new found knowledge amazes her.

-Does it mean I can’t design my life?

-No.. You can, always. But my baby, with your hands and with your heart..

Silence. They all slowly rush to you. A beep goes off in one of those machines you can’t remember its name. Your breathing’s changed. A man in white walks in and puts a mask over your face; an oxygen mask. Something with a sharp edge pierces your skin, causing an unmerited relief. Your eyes closes…

*****
Your large eyes open to faces staring blankly into yours. You are startled, but too weak to even react.

-Mom..

-It’s today ma. We thought you were gone. Mom…

You try to speak but your whole body tells you not to. It’s the wedding.

And it’s the day you leave. It’s the day you cross the lever.

*****
Everyone in the ward is doing something. Including you; you are screaming. A child is stuck in your vagina. The pain is unexplainable. He is there. His hands are glued to yours. You keep your eyes on him for strength- emotional and physical.

-He’s a boy!

You no longer feel the head in your legs. But your vagina hurts badly. He no longer holds you, his hands are busy with the red baby but his eyes are still on you; promising, silently telling you he loves you.

But the baby dies three months later.

That is how you sink into your pit of depression. You

-Are you all planning something? A surprise?

Silence. Everyone of them smiles; a shrewd one.

-Is someone ready to say something?

The eldest one begins; her marriage is a few weeks away.

-We talked to the family..

-Y’all thought that’ll surprise me?

-Your biggest wish..

A small, forced smile creeps on your face. You know where the conversation leads, but you are too scared to take the path. You don’t want to leave your children heartbroken. But they all possess broken hearts already, coupled with a broken home. A home gripped by the fearsome hands of mortality.

-The doctor says..

-Mother no.. No doctor mom. We changed the wedding date.

You are slightly irritated. It is one you can’t avoid. You strain your ears to continue listening.

-They want you there. We do.

-But I don’t want me there. I am going to a place far away from here. Leaving you guys is enough!

The youngest of the girls speak up. Her voice sends waves through your body. A kind of wave that makes you feel guilty. One which invigorates your body and reminds you that in a few days, you’d be totally unable to feel anything, including this feeling.

-Mommy, are you scared of death?

Nothing surprises you anymore, a symptom of dying.

-I’m not scared of death. It’s dying that scared me.

-Scared?

-Yes, scared. At this point, I try to just appreciate what I have left. But in those last final seconds, when my life stares at me like an assassin.. I know I will be afraid. Not afraid of dying itself, but of its meaning..

-What does it mean?

-Hmm. It means you will be without me. Without a tall woman as a mother. Daddy will come home and no one would be there to kiss him on his cheeks. He will call the maid and one of you will have to take his bag to his bedroom.

-Mommy, don’t talk like…

-Then the whole scene will reek of my absence…

-Stop it, ma.

It is the second daughter. The only one that remains herself in spite of danger. She is a made euphemism. Her long hair and dark eyes hide the fear and anxiety she feels. But her face shows up bright and bold. You believe she’s the strongest. But she isn’t. A strong human that can’t let his feelings go, like a stray bird, is he really a strong human? Or what is strength? Is it our ability to hide behind a façade of pain and come out looking bold? Or break through the wall of fear and pain while letting the hot, sticky pot of anger, fear, anxiety, sadness gnaw at your heart? You might never know; your time is short.

Then the father walks in. Your husband. You remember his face. He looks like he looked years before you married– thin, tall with a burning excitement in his eyes; they never seem to leave.

-Are you okay, honey?

-I am. I’m leaving soon.

-To where?

-To wherever this road leads.

-What are you saying?

You keep silent. Your mouth burn with words but the false excitement in it hold your withered tongue. You call her name. You believe it’s the last time you ever will. So you call it again.

-Anita, go ahead with the wedding on the proposed date.

-No, mummy. We all want you to be there.

-I will go with the memory of not coming to your wedding. That’s less heartbreaking. What is more heartbreaking is leaving you to him and not come visiting after nine months to bathe the new man in the house. What’s more heartbreaking is for me to stare down at you when the heavy turmoil of marriage falls on you. I will stare at you helplessly. Today..I want no tears…please..

But the tears wouldn’t stay in your eyes either. Like Flash runs down a Skyscraper, they run down your cheeks with enviable speed. You take a look at all of them. Husband and kids. You continue..

-Anna..

Her gentle euphemistic hands rest on yours. You force a smile.

-Have you seen a Potter at work?

-Yes mom. Mom where’s this…

-Like that clay, have you ever seen your life that way?

Silence.

-Our lives are clays. We often get it wrong. We don’t always need to mold it to what we want. At times we are made what we want by nature. It only takes time to realize we’ve been molded. A useless clay will form a hard path in the hot days, endlessly transporting people to their destinations. But on a rainy day, Anna..

Silence. A louder one.

-It throws people off it. It becomes slippery. Then, only wise and folks with common sense can cross the path.

-Mom..

Her touch on your hand has become a fearsome grip.

-It’s better to stay unmolded than to be molded by someone. Then a bridge becomes a cup..

The little girl speaks, obviously your new found knowledge amazes her.

-Does it mean I can’t design my life?

-No.. You can, always. But my baby, with your hands and with your heart..

Silence. They all slowly rush to you. A beep goes off in one of those machines you can’t remember its name. Your breathing’s changed. A man in white walks in and puts a mask over your face; an oxygen mask. Something with a sharp edge pierces your skin, causing an unmerited relief. Your eyes closes…

*****
Your large eyes open to faces staring blankly into yours. You are startled, but too weak to even react.

-Mom..

-It’s today ma. We thought you were gone. Mom…

You try to speak but your whole body tells you not to. It’s the wedding.

And it’s the day you leave. It’s the day you cross the lever.

*****
Everyone in the ward is doing something. Including you; you are screaming. A child is stuck in your vagina. The pain is unexplainable. He is there. His hands are glued to yours. You keep your eyes on him for strength- emotional and physical.

-He’s a boy!

You no longer feel the head in your legs. But your vagina hurts badly. He no longer holds you, his hands are busy with the red baby but his eyes are still on you; promising, silently telling you he loves you.

But the baby dies three months later.

That is how you sink into your pit of depression. You
-Are you all planning something? A surprise?

Silence. Everyone of them smiles; a shrewd one.

-Is someone ready to say something?

The eldest one begins; her marriage is a few weeks away.

-We talked to the family..

-Y’all thought that’ll surprise me?

-Your biggest wish..

A small, forced smile creeps on your face. You know where the conversation leads, but you are too scared to take the path. You don’t want to leave your children heartbroken. But they all possess broken hearts already, coupled with a broken home. A home gripped by the fearsome hands of mortality.

-The doctor says..

-Mother no.. No doctor mom. We changed the wedding date.

You are slightly irritated. It is one you can’t avoid. You strain your ears to continue listening.

-They want you there. We do.

-But I don’t want me there. I am going to a place far away from here. Leaving you guys is enough!

The youngest of the girls speak up. Her voice sends waves through your body. A kind of wave that makes you feel guilty. One which invigorates your body and reminds you that in a few days, you’d be totally unable to feel anything, including this feeling.

-Mommy, are you scared of death?

Nothing surprises you anymore, a symptom of dying.

-I’m not scared of death. It’s dying that scared me.

-Scared?

-Yes, scared. At this point, I try to just appreciate what I have left. But in those last final seconds, when my life stares at me like an assassin.. I know I will be afraid. Not afraid of dying itself, but of its meaning..

-What does it mean?

-Hmm. It means you will be without me. Without a tall woman as a mother. Daddy will come home and no one would be there to kiss him on his cheeks. He will call the maid and one of you will have to take his bag to his bedroom.

-Mommy, don’t talk like…

-Then the whole scene will reek of my absence…

-Stop it, ma.

It is the second daughter. The only one that remains herself in spite of danger. She is a made euphemism. Her long hair and dark eyes hide the fear and anxiety she feels. But her face shows up bright and bold. You believe she’s the strongest. But she isn’t. A strong human that can’t let his feelings go, like a stray bird, is he really a strong human? Or what is strength? Is it our ability to hide behind a façade of pain and come out looking bold? Or break through the wall of fear and pain while letting the hot, sticky pot of anger, fear, anxiety, sadness gnaw at your heart? You might never know; your time is short.

Then the father walks in. Your husband. You remember his face. He looks like he looked years before you married– thin, tall with a burning excitement in his eyes; they never seem to leave.

-Are you okay, honey?

-I am. I’m leaving soon.

-To where?

-To wherever this road leads.

-What are you saying?

You keep silent. Your mouth burn with words but the false excitement in it hold your withered tongue. You call her name. You believe it’s the last time you ever will. So you call it again.

-Anita, go ahead with the wedding on the proposed date.

-No, mummy. We all want you to be there.

-I will go with the memory of not coming to your wedding. That’s less heartbreaking. What is more heartbreaking is leaving you to him and not come visiting after nine months to bathe the new man in the house. What’s more heartbreaking is for me to stare down at you when the heavy turmoil of marriage falls on you. I will stare at you helplessly. Today..I want no tears…please..

But the tears wouldn’t stay in your eyes either. Like Flash runs down a Skyscraper, they run down your cheeks with enviable speed. You take a look at all of them. Husband and kids. You continue..

-Anna..

Her gentle euphemistic hands rest on yours. You force a smile.

-Have you seen a Potter at work?

-Yes mom. Mom where’s this…

-Like that clay, have you ever seen your life that way?

Silence.

-Our lives are clays. We often get it wrong. We don’t always need to mold it to what we want. At times we are made what we want by nature. It only takes time to realize we’ve been molded. A useless clay will form a hard path in the hot days, endlessly transporting people to their destinations. But on a rainy day, Anna..

Silence. A louder one.

-It throws people off it. It becomes slippery. Then, only wise and folks with common sense can cross the path.

-Mom..

Her touch on your hand has become a fearsome grip.

-It’s better to stay unmolded than to be molded by someone. Then a bridge becomes a cup..

The little girl speaks, obviously your new found knowledge amazes her.

-Does it mean I can’t design my life?

-No.. You can, always. But my baby, with your hands and with your heart..

Silence. They all slowly rush to you. A beep goes off in one of those machines you can’t remember its name. Your breathing’s changed. A man in white walks in and puts a mask over your face; an oxygen mask. Something with a sharp edge pierces your skin, causing an unmerited relief. Your eyes closes…

*****
Your large eyes open to faces staring blankly into yours. You are startled, but too weak to even react.

-Mom..

-It’s today ma. We thought you were gone. Mom…

You try to speak but your whole body tells you not to. It’s the wedding.

And it’s the day you leave. It’s the day you cross the lever.

*****
Everyone in the ward is doing something. Including you; you are screaming. A child is stuck in your vagina. The pain is unexplainable. He is there. His hands are glued to yours. You keep your eyes on him for strength- emotional and physical.

-He’s a boy!

You no longer feel the head in your legs. But your vagina hurts badly. He no longer holds you, his hands are busy with the red baby but his eyes are still on you; promising, silently telling you he loves you.

But the baby dies three months later.

That is how you sink into your pit of depression. You have three girls, but where’s the boy to immortalize the family’s name?

*****
-Do you love him?

-Of course mom, I do..

-Are you sure?

Tears have welled up in the eyes of everyone present.

-Yes mum..

-Protect it my baby.. Fight for your love. What we do for love is fight. But in a war, you should always know when to surrender..

-I love you mom.. But I can’t fight.. I can’t even think.

-Yes, I know. Me too. It is time to surrender..

-No.. No! No! Mum..no..

She places her head on your laps and you run your hand through her hair. You feel her warm tears on your laps and your heart finds it hard to beat.

-White is a sacred color. Don’t stain the pretty gown with your tears.

The little one speaks, amidst her tears.

-I will miss you mom. When will you come to get me?

-You will join me when the time is right… But when you need me, look deep into the sky, appreciate the stars, drown yourself in the beauty of the moon..and I will be right there in your heart, whispering old tales of Moses and the Israelites.

-Mum I love you..

-I love you more than you can imagine baby..

It is at this moment the man places his hand on your forehead. The kids sit on your bed. They all hug you.

Then you remember everything. Your first kiss. First sex with him. Your eldest daughter’s first birthday. Your affair with one of your patients and his forgiveness. His love. The kids’ complaints.

Then you close your eyes because the emotions can almost tear open your heart. You, for the last time let the tears fall down your cheeks. You don’t care anymore. You have lived a life you designed with your own hands.

*****

And it’s the next morning.

Share:

designedlife

6 Comments

  1. Jimmy

    Words strung together.
    Beauty from the pen.
    Keep writing….

    This is a beautiful.

    May . 05 . 17
  2. TARKAA, Moses Kator

    Wonderful piece. At some point the story was repeated. I think it’s an error from the site, or was that DESIGNED as well? It’s so emotional ☺.

    May . 05 . 17
  3. king david

    I’ve known this dude for ages and he never disappointed me. All I see behind this beautiful piece is an amazing word smith who still has a lot to offer.

    This is awesome dude, more ink to your pen.

    May . 05 . 17
  4. Badejo Samuel

    I always see you special. …your ink says a lot about it. Language power superb. Imaginative ability, almost unbeaten. Keep journeying on… the destination … miles away.

    May . 05 . 17
  5. Sandy

    Without micing words , this seemed more like a movie than a novel.. I totally enjoyed every single sentence!!
    It’s a master piece ☺

    May . 05 . 17
  6. jennifer igboleme

    Wow……so touching nd real,i luv dis

    May . 05 . 17

Leave A Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *