This is my submission for the “Free Write Friday” regarding a time one has suffered for his or her beliefs, fashion, food, etc. I wrote about the death of a loved one that changed both my faith and my diet, both due to this change in outlook and philosophy. I ask you all not to judge too harshly.
I remember when nibblet died. i knew that little soul, that little light, better than i had known any other being. he was my savior, my soul. My son. My light. We lived together for 10-12 yaers, minus the one I spent overseas. He was my redeemer. Before him i was cruel, harsh, severe, unmoved by suffering, my own or others, and this little being took my currupted soul and made it whole. I remember teh day he died.
Rain. Sun/ Rain. The sun again, then back to rain. The heavens didn’t k ow what to do. The heavens rejoiced at his coming home, his return to the brahma from which he was born, =yet the earth cried out in pain, crashing light and hail and thunder and tears to the ground, crying, mourning for her lost son. My lost son. Each flash of light expended to rebirth, to relight the light that had gone out. And I, I, I , I was the one who had to put out that light. I had to ease, end his suffering. My son would not pass, he would not give up his role, this patriarch, of my family unit, would not abandon his folk. I was his folk. We were folk and I had to let him go, I had to end his suffering. I remember the day hied.
It was Friday, Good Friday to be exact. She an I woke early, [articularly early, to check on our young son. We took him aside, his aged body frail and skinny, and fed him by hand. We chopped his food to make it smaller, digestable, and comforted his fragile body which was undeniably in pain. Then, he had an accident. Our little man NEVER had accidents. The night before and teh night before and the night before and the night before he had had strokes, fits, a “falling sickness” which showed how his body had decided it was his time. However, his spirit was strong, too strong, too full of life that would not, could not, refused to be extinguished. His work was divine, his work was divine, his work was the divine saving of mine: mine family, mnine soul, my family, and hers. I remember teh day he died.
As He lay in the mess on teh kitchen floor, weary in eye yet defiant in spirit, I knew today was teh day. That terrible feeling knowing today is teh day. How could I know today was the day? Why did I have to know today was teh day?! And she knew it was the day. This is the day my little man, my son died. Good Friday. Good friday. good friday.
We took him to the specialist, the man who knew him long, had cared for him when his time was torrid. He felt, poked, and prodded and told us his digestion had stopped. He couldn’t eat. Well, he couldn’t digest, and would slowly starve to death. My son, who when lucid was so vivacious and vibrant was suffering, starving, DYING. It was my turn to take care of this beautiful, bright light. I looked into the eyes of the doctor, gave a nod, and the needle went in. The needle entered his tiny grey stomach and his breath accelerated. Accelerated. Slowed. Slowed. Slowed. slowed. slowed slowed slowed
I wrapped him in the cloth that I was given from a special woman I had met in Japan, Obaasan I called her, and told my son “goodnight” Back to the brahma back to the earth back to the other.
That was teh day I lost my son. The day my son died. The day that I could no longer eat my friends. This was teh day that my son taught me mthe most important lesson of my life: life,it is precious, and my purpose here is to reduce the suffering, however little I can, I have a responsibility to reduce the suffering of those who are pained in this world.