Disclaimer: If I owned Balian I'd definitely be some rich bitch. Well, enjoy your reading with this. It's a quickie.
Goodbye, My Son
I held him in my arms for the first time. My son. His limp little body a pale blue in my arms as Sarah's exhausted gasps escaped the air. "My baby," my wife said, reaching out for me, "let me see him, my love."
Sarah's eyes, bright and loving, her arms outstretching to take him into her arms. I cannot move, I cannot even speak, but all I can see in Sarah's face is love and excitement despite all she had to endure. The grand smile Sarah had for only a few moments after the intense pain now begins to fade and concern crosses her sweat beaded face. "Balian?"
I turn to my son, he does not move or blink or cry. Damn-it, just cry.
"Balian? What's the matter?"
For the lord's mercy, just move! I want so much in that moment, not for myself, but for Sarah and because of my delay Sarah begins to shrieks. "Balian! Let me see my baby!"
The midwife comforts my wife, telling her the gruesome truth, leaving out the details. The boy came out like this; that is why the birthing took so long and why it was so arduous. I am covered in birth, like my son, his blue little lips parted in death, his spirit escape through there.
"No!" Sarah sobs in horror. "No! My baby! My son!"
Everything, our son, her womb had been barren for so long and she had lived for this baby. This baby was part of Sarah, her heart beat for him, her soul brightened at the thought of him, and now, every piece of Sarah had shattered.
The midwife averts her eyes and pries my son from my arms, but when I look to Sarah for consolation she is unbearable. The assistant to the midwife is trying to hold her down as she tries to climb from the bed, clutching for her baby. As the midwife leaves with our son, I know that Sarah's son had given her is now snuffed and dead.
When I look to Sarah I see a torn woman, a poor soul, and I move to her, but she lashes out at me and everyone else. "My baby!" Sarah screams as if a demon possesses her. "Bring me my son! Bring me my baby!"
My heart feels like lead, lodged in my throat. I run from the cottage, covered in my wife's blood. I can hear my wife shrieking still and I see the midwife standing there, a bundle wrapped tightly in linen in her arms. The midwife hands me my son. "Give him a name." She insists. "Bury him."
I drag a shovel behind me and I go to the farthest part of the graveyard, just beyond the border, where I work laboriously to dig a ditch. Before I lower him down, I turn to God.
"Why!" I scream to the dense, low grey sky above. "Why him!"
Placing a kiss on my son's head, I gently lower him into the earth, tears running down my face. The dirt covers him and I see my son no more. I fall onto the mound, sobbing for him. I can hear my wife's cries far off still. "My baby!" Sarah screams. "Let me see my son! Let me see my baby!"
Goodbye, my son.