The Day My Son Was Born

                                              The Day My Son Was Born

                                                      By Daryl Campbell



         “I feel sick,” I mumble to my wife and close my eyes.

         Thoughts swirl through my mind. Memories come rushing back and I sort them out. I was ten when mom died. Fear and loneliness dug their claws into my soul and rendered it from my physical being. Though I didn’t understand the reasons, I knew god was to blame and I hated him for it.

         I came home that day to find a series of red and blue lights flashing wickedly from our driveway. I stopped three houses down and watched as two men in white wheeled a stretcher toward the ambulance. They were frantic and ordered this and that as they lifted the body into a large, metal box. Inside, I screamed, but everyone turned as the words escaped my lips. My vision blurred when I began to run. Below me, my legs made a vain attempt to keep up with the rest of my body, but I lost my balance and toppled forward.

         Darkness takes me and the pictures in my mind fade as reality finds its way back.

         The crying snaps my thoughts into place.

         “It’s a boy!” the doctor proclaims as he holds up the struggling infant.

         “It doesn’t have any hair,” I whisper.

         My wife squeezes my hand, but I don’t look at her. I’m still transfixed by the little boy in front of me.

         It doesn’t take much coaxing to get me to cut the long cord holding him to his mother. I’m caught in the emotions of birth and will probably do anything. Gently, he’s placed on his mother’s chest and she cries, joy reflecting in every tear. She smiles as we look to each other, my own tears completely understood. I look at my son, now as proud as any father can be.

         I think to myself and try to figure it all out. A long time ago I lost something and, hurt so much by a god’s betrayal, forgot myself in every negative thought I could find. Bringing life to my child is far more powerful than anything I can imagine. I almost feel my mother’s touch once again. I feel as if she’s watching and shares my joy. It’s time to let the anger go and I can feel it slipping away. Maybe I’ve always been wrong, I’ll have to see.

         “Jonathan.” His mom smiles as she says his name.

         I just nod.