For the Love of His Son

Jim fell madly in love with his wife Sara. After giving birth to his first child Sara dies. Jim must now do everything for the love of his son

Sara

Her name was Sara. She was my wife. She was the greatest thing that ever happened to me. Her smile was the sun, her crystal clear azure eyes were the stars, her hair the infinite dark void of space, and her voice was that of only the Lord himself could even conceive in thought. Perfection looked flawed when compared to her. She was everything good in the cosmos; everything beautiful.

And I loved her. I loved her so much. I loved her as much as one could love another, maybe even more.She was everything that I could hope for, want, dream of, fantasize of, and so much more. And she loved me. She would always smile her brightest before she would tell me in her bell-tone voice “I love you, Jim” then giggle musically.

Sara was the personification of radiance and gratification. People would crave to be near her because she was so bright. It was like they were all Icarus; ignorantly chasing after the sun. Only, when they got too close, they wouldn’t burn. They’d be welcomed to a heaven on earth. They would be treated with kindness, warmth, and unconditional love.

But they could all eat their hearts out, because in the end she belonged to me; she was my wife. Everyday with her was a new exciting adventure that was usually filled by her musical laughter and over bright smiles.

One day she came up to me with absolute terror that filled her blue, star clustered eyes. She was such a brave and strong willed person that the sight of her in that state worried me immensely. I said to her, “Darling, is everything okay?” with furrowed brows.

“Well, that depends completely on your reaction.” Her usually animated face was  devoid of any emotion. She could have been a professional poker player if her eyes weren't so expressive.

“You’ve never been one to beat around the bush, dear. I promise I won’t be mad, you can tell me anything.” I promised her that I wouldn’t be mad, but if she told me something that was say, upsetting, I made no promises as to not be utterly crushed.

She took a deep breath, and I knew her well enough to know that she was both calming herself and building her courage. “Jim,” she began. “I’m pregnant.” and my own breath was stolen. It would never come back.

It took me a few moments to process the information. When I finally understood, my heart nearly stopped. In that moment I completely understood the word “enlightenment”. Everything was thrown into clarity. For just a few seconds, it felt as though I had seen the face of God himself. It was horrifying, but at the same time undeniably gorgeous. Thousands of emotions flooded my clouded mind, washing away everything but myself and Sara.

Anxiety and panic engulfed her already terror filled starry eyes. “Jim, say something. Say something Jim.” When I didn’t reply, she began to take offence. “Jim, say something. Or so help me God-”

I interrupted her before her threat was completed. “That one sentence is the most ahh inspiring thing I've ever heard since you told me ‘I love you’ on our wedding night.” I proclaimed bluntly yet warmly. I had never been so sure of anything in my entire life; not even when being told the sky was azure, or that the earth was round. But I was unadulterated when I declared this her.

Her eyes widened, shock dancing in their depths. “That’s a good thing right?”

I couldn’t help but smile at the way she look like a small scared puppy. “No, dear it’s not a good thing.” Her eyes widened even more; devastation joining the previous shock to begin to tango with it. “It’s a wonderfully marvelous thing.”

She let out a relieved sigh then tackled me with a lung crushing hug. “My God Jim, I was so worried.” I began to feel moisture soak my shirt. “I thought that you wouldn't want it or me anymore. God I was so scared.”

“You should have know better my Everything.” I replied sternly. “I love you too much to ever not want you. I said ‘till death do us part’ and I meant it with my entire being.” At this point I had eased her away a bit and leaned down some to come eye-level with her. “And now I’m going to have two ‘Everythings’. I’m ecstatic; scared beyond belief but none the less overjoyed. I’m going to love you both so much.”

“Jim, you are so perfect to me. You are perfect for me.” she began. “However I want you to promise. Promise me that you’ll love him as much as you love me, okay? No matter what?” she asked with hope filling her features; eyes searching my own.

“Of course my Everything. I’ll love you both till time stops completely, and it’s the end of all existence.” I responded with a small smile. I was always completely and utterly sincere when it came to Sara. “ I will cherish  both of you to the point of annoyance on your side. You are already heaven to me and that child will be the earth. You two will be my Everythings.”

“You shouldn't make such big promises Jim. Especially when you know that I’ll hold you to it.” She stated, tears of relief and joy streaking her cheeks. And in that moment, she was breathtakingly, hopelessly, and charmingly gorgeous; the significance that made all else look so insignificant in my eyes.

Nine Months

It had been many months since, and Sara’s middle began to swell. She was always glowing, (even when she was screaming at me). Her smile never looked so bright. I never thought it would be possible for her to be even more radiant, beautiful, cheerful, hungry, or scary.

A beautiful pregnant wife came at such a high cost. While most of the time she was level headed, light, and joyful, she would still have the strangest cravings, and sometimes she would get extremely upset and decide that I would make an excellent punching bag. Contrary to my own belief, Sara was only human; this is what normal pregnant women do. I refuse to deny it either, because every second spent with her gave me a feeling of complete fulfillment.

During these months, Sara became fond of chocolate covered pickles and bacon and peanut butter sandwiches. It was not the prettiest sight, (we had to start having dinner at separate times because watching her eat those things was not good on my own stomach.) but it made her content.

The mood swings were rare but there nonetheless. Let me elaborate by saying that I had resolved to never argue with her again. When angry, Sara was a fire-breathing dragon of doom, held inside of a petite five foot six inch girl. She would throw anything in arm’s reach that wasn’t nailed down. This small women was the scariest thing to ever happen since Freddy met Jason on the big screen.

Even while living in fear and mild disgust, (due to the new eating habits) We had never been happier. I remember the day that we went to get her first ultrasound. she couldn’t stop giggling because apparently “it tickled” and sounded weird. However, by the end of it she was crying tears of joy. A few weeks later we went back to find out the sex. It was going to be a boy, that time we both cried tears of joy.

After that particular visit we spent a solid week trying to figure out a name for our soon to be bouncing baby boy.Eventually we narrowed it down to Ceil, and Aaron. We agreed to wait till he was born and see which one he reacted better to. However I was secretly rooting for Aaron and she Ceil. In the end it wouldn’t matter in the end though, he would be cherished either way.

In between ultrasounds and name arguing we decorated the new nursery. I decided that I no longer needed a home office and that I would give the room to our son. Honestly I just didn’t want to move; this house held too many memories of laughter and love. We painted the room a light green, (The only interruption being a small paint war) and with Sara being an artist she painted charming little animals all across the walls. She had brought several stuffed animals that would be found at a safari, some of the said stuffed animals were bigger than her. It took me three days to set up the crib and changing station (there were several missing screws.) but eventually the room came together.

Her friends had decided to throw her a baby shower. It can be summed up as a loud, blown out of the water get together with friends. There was too much baby blue and too many embarrassingly weird games such as “try to pop the balloon on my wife’s stomach by squeezing her to death.” I had to charge a car afterward to regain my manliness. But in reality it wasn’t that bad, and it delighted Sara. Therefore it was a good time.

The months were flashing before my eyes. Time moved too quickly for my tastes. While I was excited to meet our son, I also didn’t want this to end. She was so beautiful, so radiant, and so happy that I didn’t want this to end. But sure enough, the nine months went by, and she woke up in the middle of the night screaming.

Unsettling Fear Sets

The scream was dreadful and woke myself up instantly. I laced my fingers in her hair, trying desperately to calm her. I went to hold her and in return she grabbed on to me. She was shaking and her nails bit into my arms painfully. I felt dampness against my night shirt.

“J-Jim, get the o-o-overnight bag n-now. My water just broke.” At this sentence my heart stopped and my breath caught. I got this horrid turning in my stomach. The air was stolen from my lungs and all time ceased. At that point in time, I was above and  beyond petrified and panicked.

I jumped out of the bed and made quick work of getting the overnight bag. I then scrambled back to the bed to get Sara. I cradled her and stroked her hair calmingly. “Shh.” I whispered “I’m going to take you to the hospital now. then we’ll get to meet our first son and name him Aaron.” she gave me a small smile after the last comment and I felt a small light of hope flicker in me. The small smile did something to calm me.

Now that I was in better control and had a bit of a clearer mind, I swiftly walked to the car, bag over shoulder, Sara in arms. I used my foot to unlock and open the door. I set Sara in the passenger's seat and buckled her safety belt. Then I dashed around the front end and took my own seat on the driver’s seat.

Putting the key into the ignition I opened up the garage door, and once I had proper clearance, I darted out of our home. Racing around the suburban area, while breaking several traffic laws, Sara screamed more. This one more gut-wrenching than the last.

“It hurts Jim!” she screeched out in between earth shattering crys. My heart broke at the words. I growled in response. I felt extreme antagonism when she was in pain.

“Don’t worry my Everything, we’re almost there, then you’ll be okay. Okay?” I tried my best to use a soothing voice but it came out hash and clipped.

But sure enough, we were only a block away from the hospital. Once in front of the emergency room, I hopped out of the car. not even bothering to take out the keys or even put it in park. I rushed to the other side of the car and ripped it open, carefully taking Sara out then running through the doors of the emergency room.

“I need help! Please! My wife! She’s in pain!” I bellowed. A few nurses came running toward us. One brought a wheelchair and I gingerly placed Sara in it. A nurse dressed in bright pink scrubs immediately began to wheel her into past the white doors. I followed behind briskly, completely ignoring any attempts to stop me or calm me down.

They took her behind a turquoise curtin and slid it shut as soon as all were inside. A young, champagne haired doctor fiercely walked past the curtain and began to shout orders. I virtually blanked him out, gently holding Sara’s hand vaguely aware that someone was trying to capture my attention.   

“Sir,” the young doctor asked straightforward. “I need to know what happened; preferably right now.” This man was blunt. It’s a trait that I admire.

“I-I” I began. At that moment I couldn't complete a sentence if my life depended on it. The problem was that my life wasn’t at risk. It was Sara’s and our child’s; so I willed myself to speak. I was able to bite out “I think she's in labor.”

“I see,” the doctor said nonchalantly. “When was her due date?”

“September twenty-fourth.” I replied blandly.

“She’s only a week early then. That’s nothing to worry about. Everything should be fine.” he turned on his heel with dignity and was able to withdraw from the room efficiently. He was the opposite of me. His composure was both unshakeable and undeniable. Where as I was crumbling like a drying sandcastle.

The stoic man’s indifference was strangely calming. He seemed confident that Sara would be okay. In my depreciation and anxiety his ideals influenced my own. I looked down at Sara. She was pale and sweaty, she looked so frail, breakable. Her once defiant azure blue eyes now almost lifeless.  Her breathing was shallow at best; the task seemed arduous.

“Did you hear that Sara?” I addressed her in my most gentle voice. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

She barely even  registered my presence, but she did give me a weak smile. “I love you so much. Jim.” she whispered. Those words brought me to tears. Five simple words had demolished all of my defences and practically brought me to my knees.

“I love you too my Everything. Always have and I always will.” I replied in between sobs.

A nurse in pale blue scrubs put her hand on my shoulder. “ Sir, we need to prep your wife for her c-section. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave the room now.”

“Okay.” it was all I could think to say. Then I addressed Sara. “I’ll see you when you get out, okay?  I love you.” I turned on my heel and left the room without a second thought of glance.

The Emptiness

I waited for hours upon hours. Maybe it was less, but in my eyes it stretched on for what felt like a millennia. I tried (more like demanded) to know what was happening behind the closed sterile white doors; but not a soul told me a thing.

My mind became clouded with the most mournful thoughts known to man. I felt as though I was slowly going insane. My mind had become my very own torcher chamber; each thought brought sheer agony. I was my own worst adversary.  

I felt the urge to keep active. This was achieved with constant and incessant pacing in the waiting room. I felt like if I stopped moving then my heart would cease to beat. It gave me a fleeting sense of control. It was irrational really but it conveyed a light of security. No matter hold small fleeting, and dim; it kept me sane.

As I paced, I couldn’t help but take in my surroundings. It felt essential to try to bring my mind out of the accused thoughts. There were several other men that shared  my position. We were all pacing, all looking tense. Occasionally a nurse would come into the room to fetch one of the men to bring him to his new child.

Pretty soon the number of pacing, tense, men dwindled. And after some time I had the waiting room all to myself. It was just me, uncomfortable couches, cheap coffee, and lously t.v. It was not the best of company. I felt exhausted, but I couldn’t bring myself to rest. If I dared, then I would miss something important and vital.

After the millennia I saw the champagne haired doctor again. He shuffled toward me briskly. He wouldn’t meet my eyes with his own. He looked so ashamed and humiliated. The way a man looks after he’s told a horrible lie, it’s a look of pure remorse and regret.

“Mr. Pierce?” He addresses me timidly. I only look to him to confirm that he has the right man. He strolled toward me at a hauntingly slow pace. His expression is that of a man who had failed miserably. It seemed as though his entire demeanor changed. The proud, straight, and calm posture had gone rigid and harsh. The air of confidence that once hung around him  was now hesitant and timid. Before me stood a completely different man.

“As it seems, I am an outright liar.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you're talking about doctor.”

“I lied to you. And I have this instinct that I will never be able to make this up to you.” His face was still stoic, but his eyes spelled out despair and utter failure. I did not respond. I did not want to jump to conclusions. A deafening silence settled between us. The tension that was between us was so thick that the air around us seemed to solidify. Several minutes passed before the champagne haired  man was able to built the courage to continue.

“I’m sorry Mr.Pierce, but your wife has died on my watch.”

There were a few blissful moments where my mind failed to give that sentence any coherence. In those blissful moments I was numb to everything. It was as if the entire world held it’s breath. Everything was frozen, silent, and utterly unfazed.

Then everything crashed. The decline started gradually, but it quickly intensified. The gravity of what the champagne haired man had said began to settle on me. It was too much. It was too heavy. I vaguely remember falling to my knees. I vaguely remember the acidic tears as they began to stream on the sides of my face. However none of that mattered. My only thought was that I had just lost the love of my life; the woman of my dreams. The sheer agony that the thought had left was completely unbearable. As cliché as it sounds, it felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest, all the air in my lungs was stolen, and my once vibrant  existence became a pallet of black, grey, and white.

“It was her request to deliver naturally, however her body could not handle  the stress of natural childbirth. I should have insisted on a c-section. That was my mistake, and for that, I apologize. Her cause of death has been ruled as heart failure due to the stress of giving birth.” Every word the doctor says is like another knife in my already ruined and bloodied heart. To my horror he continues “However, the child is alive and healthy.” My inner musings and turmoil are halted.  

The champagne haired doctor takes this as a good sign, and decides to move on to a less devastating topic. “Would you like to meet your beautiful child Mr. Pierce?”

Meeting Him

The hospital’s nursery was a sterile matte white, with ugly little wall stickers of cartoon storcks. This did not help the seemingly permanent black and white that my surroundings have taken on. Everything was bland. Everything was blank. To me the sun had fallen silent.

I sullenly trudged behind the champagne haired doctor. He veered off toward a honey brown oak door with a dulled golden lever knob. He opened it swiftly and entered the room in the same manner. He did not close it behind him, I can only assume that it was because he expected me to follow. I did so grudgingly, closing the door behind myself.

There were rows upon rows of stainless steel bassinets each holding a small child. The newborns were all sleeping in an undisturbed peace that was clearly written on each of their pint-sized faces. On the far wall of the room there was a single row of space age looking incubators.

However only one of the incubators was occupied. The champagne doctor made a beeline toward it. After a few moments of hesitation, I fallowed. The man opened up the top and gingerly picked up a small pinkish angel. He closed the small distance between us and presented me with my child.

“Mr. Peirce, I would like you to meet your son.” He slightly turned the newborn so that I could lay eyes on a small and fragile face. For the second time that day, I fell to my knees. The child; my new son was so beautiful. He had so much of his mother in him. He had her petite straight nose, her delicate pink lips, and to complete the appearance, he had a small tuft of cosmic black hair atop his small crown.

I had yet to get up when the doctor, careful not to disturb the infant, kneeled down so that he was also on the floor with me. He freed one of his hands and began to position my own so that it looked like I was cradling air. Then ever so carefully, he placed my child into my newly extended arms.

It was that moment that my child decided to open his eyes and take his first glance at the world. I was shocked to be met with a shockingly intense shade of cobalt blue. His eyes if possible were and even more brilliant blue than that of his mother’s. But they definitely came from her. Even though his were a more overwhelming blue, they carried the same glimmer of wonder, intelligence and curiosity. There was no denying that in my arms, rested the child of Sara Pierce.

The doctor seemed to gain a bit of his old confidence back. I think that he was able to deduce my feelings toward the uncanny resemblance. He seemed at least somewhat pleased that he was able to give me some part of my family. The man was even able to muster up a small smile.

“You know Mr. Pierce, the only reason that he’s in an incubator is that he’s a bit underweight. Other than that he’s the picture of health.” I was only half listening, but I was able to get the overall gist. “He’s so healthy that you can take him home with you tomorrow.” At this statement my eyes shot up to meet his.

“He can come home with me?” I asked with little expression. The champagne haired doctor nodded ethisicastically in reply. “That would be nice.” I continued in the monotonic voice. “Sara and I made a nice little nursery for him. She poured her soul into it.” I then turned my face toward the child in my arms. “She was so excited to meet you little one. It’s a shame that you didn’t get to meet her. She was truly a goddess among mortals. I’m positive that you would have loved as much as I do.”

The infant in my arms gives me a strange inquisitive look. Personally I did not think that was even possible. The face he gave me was almost humorous. He was so precious, so perfect, in my eyes he was practically divinity. And ever so gradually the vibrancy of my surroundings began to seep back into my reality. It was like the first drop of water in a small crystal clear puddle. The ripples began to grow in size, folding the continuous flat surface, changing the obliqueness that was previously there into something more meaningful and incredible. All of the sudden, desire and obligation came storming back into my being with complete force. I started to feel like I was breathing again; alive again.

The sapphire blue eyes simply stared at me in a blooming confusion. I couldn’t help but think that in that moment he seemed so innocent, worth all the hardship and inconvenience the world could offer. He needed to be called something that would be worthy of going into history books.

I looked down at my son that was settled in my arms, and I addressed him for the first time in his life. “Ceil.” There was a spark of a second and those glimmering blue eyes, seemed to shine brighter than all the stars in the universe. The name “Ceil” seemed to complete his soul. Of course it would be the name Sara had chosen. She always had much better intuition than myself.

The day had been something of a beautiful nightmare, or a terrible dream. In less than the span of  twelve hours, I had lost the love of my life. But soon after I was able to hold my first born child; my beautiful son Ceil Pierce.

Atlas’ Responsibility

I spent the night next to my son who had promptly chosen to fall into a deep sleep in his incubator. I slept on the hard floor, with only a flat pillow and a thin bedsheet as sleeping companions. During the time that my eyes were closed, I was haunted by images of Sara. There was Sara looking alive, happy and laughing, then there was Sara walking away from me, and no matter how intensely I tried, how quickly a ran after, how far I stretched out my hand, I could never grasp her.

Ceil awoke me from my nightmare by whimpering quietly. To me it seemed as though he was trying to hold back his emotions but was failing. My son had apparently already developed something of a pride complex. Wonderful. I rose to my knees enough to glimpse at him while I tried to evaluate the situation. Unable to analyze the matter with the seemingly non-essential plastic in the way; I timidly opened up the top and scooped the small infant in my arms.

As soon as I held him close to my chest, his mournful whimpering ceased. It seemed that all he needed was human contact. Ceil immediately calmed down and his overbearing breathing leveled. The way he calmed when I held him, melted my almost frozen heart.

I could feel his tiny heartbeat and small seemingly short breaths through my shirt. His small tuft of black hair looked like a dark halo and gave him a heavenly appearance. The look in his cobalt blue eyes penetrated right into my foolish soul. For a few blissful seconds, the ache in my heart lessened.

Then immediately after, I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders. This small human was now my responsibility. He was mine to look after and care for. I could only hope that I could be enough for the bundle of perfection in my arms. There were these nagging doubts. I always called Sara my better half for a reason. She was all of my good qualities, only amplified. Now that I was only less than half of a person, I had to question whether my capabilities as a father would be enough to raise this small child into a man.

Spring Cleaning

Later that day I was given the go ahead to take my son home. The hospital’s valet met me at the front doors. The autumn wind bringing with it the slight chill indicating the approach of winter. The sleek black car pulled up to us, as it stopped the asphalt beneath it’s tires gave an audible crunch.

The valet opened up the back door revealing a basket like car seat. Ever so tenderly I placed Ceil into the small basket and pulled the seat belt securely around the car seat. My eyes lingered on my small child for just a few more seconds. Then I closed the back door soundly and made my way around the car to take my place in the driver's seat. As I passed the young valet I gave him a small sum of money for his troubles.

I opened the driver side door and slipped myself in. I just sat there, unmoving in the front seat, watching my son sleep through the rear view mirror. My mind was a blank, all I did was stare at him, nothing more, nothing less. After my brain ultimately decided to kick start I slipped the key into the ignition.

The car started with it’s reliable pur. I drove away from the front entrance, and eventually out of the parking lot. The trip back was much more legal than the trip to. I stopped at every stoplight, yielded at every turn, and followed all of the speed limits. The drive was mind-numbing at best. I hadn’t noticed that I’d grown accustomed to the constant sound of Sara while in the car. She was always taking about unimportant things; or when she had nothing to say, she would coon some old Tony Bennett softly to herself. The lack of noise, was almost unbearable.

By the time I had pulled into the driveway, my hands were clutching the steering wheel so hard that my knuckles had gone a ghostly shade of white. I roughly pried my hands away from it, opened my door, and stepped outside on unstable legs. The sun shined in my eyes in a way that momentarily blinded me.

I stumbled toward the back door and opened it painstakingly slowly. My son was sleeping quietly peaceful and for a split second, I felt envy. As far I could tell, he felt none of the inner turmoil I did; and how could he? How could he feel remorse for someone that he never knew.

Once more I had to compel myself out of my inner musings and return my focus to my son. Leaving the basket car seat behind, I rigorously plucked my son out of it and brought him close to my chest. After I was positive that he was secure against me I headed to the front door of his new home; The home that we would be sharing for years to come.

The first thing I did was navigate to the safari themed nursery. I set the small child into the oak crib and lightly placed the small lime green blanket over his small frame. I grabbed the white baby monitor and placed it right next to the crib. Then I grabbed my own copy and clipped it to the loop on my jeans. Afterwards, I gave him a light parting caress on his small head. I exited the room leaving the with door open only a sliver. I did have things that I needed to attend to.

The first place I started was the entryway. Every family has a wall full of pictures that holds special meaning to the homeowners. Or at least every house that I had ever been to. Ours just happened to be in the entryway. Sara always insisted to have it there because it was bound to be the first thing people saw and would give them their first impression of our home. She was right of course. This wall that was filled with smiling pictures of our friends, relatives, and us made our house feel so much warmer.

But at that time the wall was the bane of my existence. In almost every picture there was Sara. In some pictures she looked formal, in others she looked casual and comfortable, sometimes she was focused on the camera, and others she was oblivious of its presence. But in each one she appeared in, she had her big goofy grin on. It was that same grin that made my heart swell. Now knowing that I would never be able to see it in person again, broke me. The mere sight of her was almost enough to kill me.

So I grabbed a box from the garage and headed back to the entryway. Not wanting my eyes to linger for too long I quickly scanned each of the pictures and took down everyone that Sara appeared in. Even the ones with her in that background were haunting. Gingerly and oh so tenderly I placed each one into the box. The wall that was once littered with dozens of memories now looked odd and bear. Out of all the pictures only five remained. They were the only ones where Sara was not even vaguely present. There were still nails sticking out of the wall where the pictures once hung, but at that time it was enough. Later on I would remove them and patch the holes that they had left behind. I needed a quick fix and right then and there it was enough to suffice.

I dragged the box full of photographic memories up to the attic, having the meager hope that one day I could build the courage to look upon them again.

After grabbing a few more boxes from the garage I headed to the master bedroom. It was the room that Sara and I used to share. I went to the closest first. I took her garments off of their hangers, folded them carefully and neatly and pack them away. They still smelled like her, they still represented her personality well. It was almost as if she’s still there, like she would walk through the door at any moment and speak to me. The thought was painful, so I did my best to block it out. I packed away the rest of her things in something of a numbed daze.

Soon, it was almost as if Sara had never set foot in the house. Everything that even reminded me of her was packed away and stored in the attic. Expect for our wedding photo. I moved that to Ciel's nursery and left it on the nightstand next to his crib. I wanted him to know that his mother was extremely beautiful and that she and I were in the kind of love that can only be described as real.

Irrationality and Disgust

A week had passed since the death of my wife and the birth of my son. On that day my friends and family were held a memorial for Sara. They had spent most of the days prior planning, morning, and trying to convince me to attend. But I had to stay home with my new born. And personally I don't think that I had it in me to go.

That day had been especially annoying. The entire day had me on edge. As if sensing my emotions, Ceil was on his best behavior. For the majority of the day he didn’t cry and mostly spent it just sleeping. Since Ceil was being so non-dependant, I had to find ways to distract myself. I had switched the t.v. to a dry documentary on starfish for background noise and began to flip through an old novel.

The book was about an ungrateful child who hated his mother for leaving him all alone in the world. It was probably not the best choice for me considering the situation, but I read it all the same. By the time I was finished, I was irationionaly livid. I couldn't help but connect that story to my own.

I found myself angry with Ceil for some reason and promptly stormed toward the nursery. I bursted through the door stalked toward the crib where my son was resting peacefully. I picked him up and held him so that my eyes could bore into his sapphire blue ones.

“I HATE you!!! How could you kill her!!!” I screamed. Ceil took on a face that spelled out frightened but made no sound. “You killed her!!!” I screamed again. “She didn’t even know you and she loved you!!!” I stopped dead in my tracks. She loved him. I love him.

My eyes went wide as I innerly reminded myself of this. My rage faded and was replaced by shocked horror. I could not believe that I had said those things to my own son. Even if he couldn’t understand me, it was unacceptable. I became disgusted with myself.

I brought Ceil close to my chest and held him tightly. After a few seconds I began to sob. There was no excuse for what I did. The shame consumed me, I was furious with myself for even thinking that way.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered quietly between sobs. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean a single word. I love you so, so much. God, I’m so sorry.” I spent the next hour whispering apologies and words of love; with my son pressed against my chest. That moment will forever be my darkest and most shameful hour.

The Sun and the Moon

Four years later

“Story! Story!” I was slammed into by forty-five pounds of small hyperactive child. The years went by quickly. Before I knew it Ceil was crawling, then walking, and now he was fully capable of running. He clung to my leg and continued his chant “Story!”

“In a minute.” I replied. “Just let me finish off the dishes, ok?” I looked down at him and gave him a pleading smile.

“But daaaaaddy, you can do that later!” Ceil demanded.

It was obvious that I would not win the current battle so I gave into to my persuasive son. “Okay. But then it’s bed.” When he opened his mouth to retort I interrupted him. “Either take the deal or it’s nothing at all.”

He let out a defeated huff and threw his arms up in exasperation. “Fine.” He then promptly ran off to his room and I followed at a slower pace.

By the time I had reached his room he was already cuddled up under his Spider-Man bed sheet with an impatient look across his small features. The nursery had matured over the years as well. The once light green walls were now a pleasing shade of blue. There was now a toy chest in the far corner of the room as well as a small bookshelf filled with several picture books. The wedding picture still stood atop his night stand; one of the only reminders of Sara’s existence left in the house. Where the crib once stood there was now a simple maple bed frame that was currently being occupied by a small four year old.

I sat down next to him on the small bed and caressed his small head tenderly. Then I gave myself a moment for thought. I knew the exact story that I would tell him for the night. One that I hoped he would never forget.

“Do you want to hear the story of the sun and moon?” I asked him.

“Yeah! Yeah!” he replied enthusiastically

“Okay.” I began the story as I had replayed a thousand times in my own mind. “Once upon a time, there was a sun that loved the moon so much, that he would die every night just so that she could breathe.”

“Is that how much you loved mommy?” He asked with a glimmer of curiosity enlightening his already bright blue eyes.

“Even more so.” I replied with complete sincerity and confidence. He gave me the same kind of goofy grin that Sara always greeted me with. That simple gesture pulled on my heart strings, however I chose take it as a go ahead to continue. I told him all about the soft glowing moon and the sun that couldn’t help but fall deeply for her; and how the sun would give up his existence for her.

Soon the story lulled him to sleep. I gave him a chaste kiss on his forehead, and exited the room silently. I could only hope that he would take the story to heart and never forget it. I wanted it to be his example of how people could love one another with a conviction that could never be questioned. I wanted to set a template for when he fell in love.

Twice If Lucky

One year later

“Daddy? How come you never tried to find a new wife?” Ciel's cobalt blue eyes looked at me with a tango of curiosity and sadness.

I answered him as honestly as I could. “Ceil, a man like me only has it in him to love once. Twice if luck play it’s hand. The first was your mother. There was luck and you became the second.”

When he looked at me with a lack of understanding, I continued. “I just don’t have it in me to love anyone else in the way that I love you and your mother.” His eyes saddened a slight bit more, but he seemed to know that there was nothing he could do for a man that could only love twice.

A Slight Cold

Two years later

Ceil walked into the kitchen one morning looking like death incarnated. He looked like he hadn’t slept the entire night and he was much paler than usual. As he walked by me, I lightly snagged him by the collar. I doubt he would have responded to me otherwise. “Is everything okay?” I asked him.

“I don’t feel so good.” he mumbled back. I lowered my self to my knees and turned him so that we were facing eachother. I then connected our foreheads in an attempt to read his temperature. When we made contact his forehead was burning much more than it should have been.

I scooped him up and carried him back to his bed ignoring any sounds of protest on his part. “Daaaad, I’ll be fine.” I acted as though he didn’t say anything and he scoffed in replay. Once inside of his room I tucked him in and left after telling him that he did not have permission to go to school that day. He made a dissatisfied groan but was once again ignored.

Once I was back in the kitchen I picked up the home phone and dialed his school. After a few rings someone answered pleasantly. “I’m sorry but it seems as though my son, Ciel Pierce, has caught a terrible case of the plague and will not be able to come in today.” Before anyone could reply, I said a ‘good bye’ and hung up the phone.

After that I called my work and repeated the same speech adding the part where I also could not make it in. My manager complained for a bit claiming that there was an important meeting and that I had to come in. I promptly told him in harsher words that my son was more important than stupid meetings. He threatened me with extra paperwork. I went on to tell him where he could put that extra paperwork.

After I hung up I pulled out a can of Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup , plopped it into a pot, and set it on a burner. Then I made my way toward the pantry and pulled out a hearty herbal tea. I put some water in a kettle and set that next to the soup. Once all was completed I headed for the medicine cabinet and took out some children's Night Quill, thinking it would be best to put him to sleep.

In a matter of minutes, everything was prepared for Ciel's sick day. I brought it all into his room only to find him mildly fuming in his small bed. “Daaaad, I’ll be fine just let me go to school!” He whined. I shook my head, but otherwise made no gesture of acknowledgement.  

I nudged him into a sitting position, balanced the warm soup on his lap and placed a spoon into his smaller hand. His bright blue eyes took on a quizzical look before he seemed to put two and two together. Ceil began to slowly eat the soup. I watched and waited for him to finish off that aspect of his remedies.

When he finally polished off the bowl I gathered up the used dishes and set them on the nightstand next to my smiling wife. I then positioned the herbal tea in his hand so that he would not lose his grip on it. He gave it a sceptical sniff and winced at it’s strong earthy smell. He turned to me and gave me one of his beast pleading “puppy dog eyes” look. Too bad for him that I’m practically immuned. My own gaze steeled and he let out a nervous gulp. He gave one last feudal attempt to escape the hardy tea before taking a small tender sip. He grimaced but soldiered on like the resilient being he is. After a minute or two he finished off the tea with an audible sigh of relief.

I let him wallow in his self pity for a few seconds, before I poured him a small shot of mild cold medicine in the medicine cup. Ceil looked at me with malice in his cobalt eyes, but I pretended not to notice, instead handing him the small cup and placing a stern look on my own face. He pouted, and glared down at the midnight blue liquid in the tiny, plastic, cup. Building and stealing his courage, he threw it all to the back of his throat in one go. He grimaced then glared at me. I simply just smiled back.  

It wasn’t long before my son was out like a light, with a small peaceful smile gracing his small features. I stared at him for a few more minutes,simply just being grateful for his existence in my life. I picked up the novel I had left there a few nights ago, and began to read where I had last left off. I stayed next to him for the entire night; just being secretly grateful.

Ceil had never gotten sick before, and in hindsight I might have overreacted just a tad bit; and in my defence he was back in perfect health the very next day.

Tenth Birthday

Three years later

All those days had turned all those months into years. My son had now reached another major mile-stone in his life. His tenth birth day. My slightly premature son, had grown into a capable, intelligent, headstrong young boy. I had never felt more pride for anyone. He was top of his class, got all first place ribbons at the school’s field day, and always went out of his way to help others. However it was only to be expected of the son of Sara Pierce.

I asked him if he wanted to have a birthday party that year, but he kindly declined; claiming that he only wanted to spend it with me. In all honesty, I was extremely honored.

While he was at school, I spent my day at the local Party City, shopping for things that would make his day all the more special. I stopped at the balloon counter. I spent a good fifteen minutes just standing there staring at their wide array of colorful, metallic balloons. Eventually a young, bored looking, blonde employee approached me from behind the counter.

Without making eye contact, she said “Is there anything I can help you with sir?” She had this look on her face that said she would rather be anywhere but where she currently was. I wondered momentarily if she always had that kind of dazed, uninterested look. Then I recomposed myself.

“Yes, please.” Her uninterested gaze remained. “I would like the Spider-man one; that one with the Avengers; the blue Transformers one; The one that looks like a stegosaurus; about five different ones that say ‘ten’; and…. Umm... Oh that one that looks like a cake.”

After about the third one she looked at me like I was the most troublesome thing of the day. “Will that be all, sir?” She replied; her voice was dripping with sarcasm. I gave her a small, semi-apologetic smile. She only rolled her eyes discreetly while she mumbled something under her breath about parents over spoiling their children.

Thirty minutes later, she came back, looking fairly disgruntled with an assortment of ten different foil balloons. After I paid, she roughly handed them to me and bid me farewell with an insincere “Have a nice day”

I shoved them into my the back of the car then headed to what used to be Sara’s favorite bakery Cakes and Charm. During the drive the balloons hit me in the back of my head and were constantly coming toward the driver’s seat; blocking my view of the street. Luckily there weren't that many cars out at the time and I managed not to get into a car accident.

Once I was able to get there, the chubby, friendly baker came to greet me with the utmost gusto. He grabbed my hand and shook firmly (almost painfully); not once dropping his grin. “Hello Mr. Peirce!” he practically bellowed. “Are you here to pick up your cake?”

A bit overwhelmed by the man’s energy I could only bring myself to nod slowly. He reassured his understanding with another large grin. He took quick, sturdy steps back into his kitchen without another word.

He came back with and ten inch circular cake dawn with bright blue frosting. On the top it read ‘Happy Tenth Birthday Ceil’ in beautiful white cursive lettering. The baker plopped the cake into a cubicle white box and handed it to me. I then left the bakery with a small smile and matching thank you.

Once in the car I hurried home. For decorations, I hung streamers on the ceiling and dispersed the ten balloons I had brought about the dining room. I placed the cake onto a large serving plate and placed it in the middle of the dining room table. It was fairly quick work and I was able to complete the task by the time my son came home.

When he opened the door, the cool, dry leaf scented autumn air followed him in. He had a couple of bright orange maple leaves sticking out at odd angles in his charcoal hair. When he saw the state of the dining room, his face broke out into his inherited smile; the same smile that used to light his mothers. For a moment the sight saddens me; he will never know the warmth of his mother, or know how musical her laughter was. But everyone that knew Sara knew that he was hers. He carried the same warm atmosphere as she once did, and had her selfless kindness. It amazed me that even though the two had never met, they were so similar.

But in a lot of ways he’s different too. He can be extremely stubborn or determined about the things he’s passionate about. He likes cars, dinosaurs, and superheros; things that his mother never cared much for. He’s also a lot more curious then she was; he constantly asked questions about different things ranging several topics. Where as Sara had been loud and outgoing, there were times where Ceil felt self-conscious. It was odd how they could be so similar; but undeniably different at the same time.  

Once his still bright blues eyes landed on me, he charged and rammed into me with a bone-crushing, heart-warming hug. “Hi dad!” he squeaked onto my shirt.

“Happy birthday, Ceil.”

Of the Highest Degree

Eight years later

The air was warm and carried the sweet scent of new spring flowers. The cloudless sky a shade of blue that rivaled the color of my son’s eyes. The atmosphere  was filled with excitement as more parents and family members flooded towarded their lawn chairs. The happy chatter created a soundtrack that was almost intoxicating.

When I was able to find my seat, I took it in anticipation. I sat behind a weeping grandmother and in front of a pair of rowdy twin boys no older than ten. Their mother was constantly scolding them to behave; however it didn’t damper the mood of the bystanders. Everyone seemed too thrilled.

After about thirty more minutes of chatter and people shuffling about to find their own lawn chairs, the principal of the school announced that the ceremony would begin shortly. The chatter lessened and people hurried to find their seats with renewed moxie coursing through their veins. Once more the principal returned to make a few announcement and officially begin the event.

“Hello and welcome to this year’s graduating class of  Theodore Roosevelt high school graduation ceremony. Let me begin by saying that being able to work with these kids, and helping them become adults ready to help improve the world; has been nothing short of an honor of the highest degree. These kids are bright, eager, and ready for anything that anyone can throw at them. I truly believe that this generation has the capabilities and means to change the entire world. Now without further ado, I present to you the class valedictorian: Ceil Peirce.”

The crowd erupts into cheers and I had never felt that much pride surge through me since Sara passed. I nudged the man next to me and say “That’s my boy up there.” The stranger smiled back and returned his attention to the stage. I did the same.

My boy walked toward the podium and his strides were graceful and held a subtle confidence. He had grown into a fine young man; his eyes had gained color and sparkle, his chin was masculine and strong, and his head was held high upon his broad shoulders. He stopped in front of the podium and lightly cleared his throat to gather the crowd’s attention. Then he began his speech with a nervous and endearing laugh.

“Hello, and umm thank you for coming today everyone.” he scratched the tip of his nose; a nervous habit he inherited from his mother no doubt. He steeled himself before he continued. “My name is Ceil Pierce. As valedictorian I was asked to prepare a speech about how I came to be the person I am today. And who I am today has been shaped by the people around me; everyone from teachers to friends and role models. There has been one man who has been all that and more. He is my father: James Peirce.” At his words my heart swelled. “He is a single widower that makes a good honest living and has done everything for the love of his son. My mother died during childbirth, and I can tell that it still has him heart broken; but he has never let that affect me. He let me know that she was perfect, and that’d she’d be proud of me. That was all I needed. He did ‘dad things’ too. He taught me how to ride a bike, and  helped me with my homework in elementary, and took me to ball games. My dad did lots of those things. He’s always been my biggest supporter, my biggest fan, and the person that loved me the most. So when asked whom to thank for creating the person I am today, the man to thank is James Peirce.” As he got further into his speech, I felt tears prickle in the corners of my eyes.

He gave a small bow and returned to his seat among his fellow classmates. The rest of the ceremony was a blur until they called his name “Ceil Peirce”. The entire entire crowd cheered and as he was handed his diploma, he stopped in front of the camera and flashed his bright, Sara grin before he continued on his merry way. The next name was called and the rest of the ceremony continued in a blur. I waited eagerly to greet him.

Ceil Peirce has to be the greatest accomplishment of my entire life.

His Marriage

Seven years later

The sun was bright in the sky and the air warming to the skin. On this early summer day, the world was in a calming daze that soothed the soul. It was one of those perfect days, that was sadly a rarity. The sounds the ocean made provided a melody that was in it’s own rights was a harmony that instruments could not compare to. The sand was soft beneath my shoes, and the smell of saltwater was strong but not overwhelmingly so.  

That wedding planner that they had hired did wonders. There was a white alter, and a white cloth leading up to it covered on rose petals. There was a lot of white ribbon and the chairs had white covers on them that were elegant. It was a simple setup, but there was beauty in simplicity.

My son stood to the right of the altar, in a black tuxedo with a bow tie. Next to him stood his best friend that he had met in college. His name was Zachary. Apparently they had a ‘bromance’ going on. My son looked nervous, but his overall face spelled out pure joy. The wedding anthem started to play and the bride started to make her way down the aisle.

Her name was Gabriella. She was a pretty blond girl with honey brown eyes and a warm smile. She was a nice smart girl, that shared a lot of interests with Ceil. I could tell that they were in love because Ceil looked at her with the same kind of eyes I used to look at Sara with.

The ceremony was beautiful and the brides mother ended up crying. For the sake of honesty I’ll admit that I was tearing up as well. I was so pleased that my Sun had found his Moon.

For the Love of His Own Son

Two years later

After the wedding the couple moved out of state in pursuit of Gabriella’s job. Without my son being within driving distance, I became bored. I ended up using all of my free time going back to college to get a degree in Social Work; so that I could become a social worker and help children find parents that would forever love them.

Gabriella had gotten pregnant and was going to be due at any given day. Then one evening at about two o’clock in the morning, I got a phone call.

“Hello?” I answered groggily

“She had him dad, and he’s perfect.” At his words I sat bolt upright in my bed.

“What?!” I retorted.

“Glad to see your not docile yet old man.” He teased. I could hear the small smile had hid behind the phone. “I’m officially a father now too.”

“That’s great, son.” And I genuinely meant it. He was such a happy and accomplished man. He now had everything that anyone could hope for, and he earned it all. My son makes me proud.

“Yeah. Oh and dad before I forget, his name is Jim, Jim Percus Pierce. A name worthy of history books y’know.”

Author's Note

Good? Bad? Grammar? Please :)