My child

Something I came up with.

The feeling when a new life first touches skin with its own mother, a feeling like no other. The skin on skin texture that compares to holding the most delicate, precious and valuable treasure in the world. The eyes of mother and child lock for the first time, signifying an everlasting bond that entails the mother committing a promise, that she will love, protect and cherish her child for as long as she lives. When a child is born, it is not only a new life in the sense of the child, but a new life for the mother. The transition between woman to mother. From the moment that a mother first holds her child, she is infatuated and besotted with them. When I first held my son, Jack, the feelings were indescribable, perhaps too magical for words to conjure. When I held him, he completed me, I knew that no matter whatever mistakes I had made in my life no matter how much I had messed up, there was one thing I will always be proud of. That was bringing my beautiful child into this world.

That initial love for a child stays with you your entire life. No matter how exhausted, physically and emotionally drained, angry or irritated you become, there is not one thing in the whole world that child could do that could destroy your love for them.
Jack grew into a beautiful, intelligent boy. Through his youth he was the perfect child. He had wonderful manners to everyone, a great group of friends, he did exceptionally in school and I couldn't have been prouder. He had so much potential from such a young age, anyone could see that. Tuesday night. That was our night. We would go to dinner at our favourite restaurant, go for a walk round the small, beautiful, scenic pond a few streets away from us. While we walked he would make up a story for me, and I would listen completely astounded and mesmerised by the imaginative, beautifully conjured tale that would roll of his tongue so delicately. I have no idea what I have ever done in my life to be rewarded with the everlasting, glorious gratification that is being able to call myself his mother.

On his 9th birthday, it was a Tuesday. I remember so vividly picking him up from school that day, his wild dark chestnut curly hair blowing up in the wind, his face lighting up as he saw me. He grinned so lovingly as he bounded towards me. We went for dinner, his ice cream smeared all over his face as he grinned at me with his chocolate stained teeth. I remember how pure and innocent he looked, his eyes filled with wonder and excitement when the birthday cake was brought out. He was hopeful for what the world had to offer him. We walked hand in hand as his mouth
drew a story for me. His words were like soft velvet in my ears, his face going wild with devotion as he became more and more entangled in his art. I was left astounded by the talent of such a young delicate boy. We got home later than usual that night. When I told him goodnight, he leaned in close to me and whispered softly in my ear, making my hairs on my body stand up, that he would always love me.

8:38 AM.
'That can't be right' I mumbled, confused. My eyes squinted as I grabbed the clock closer to me. I leaped out of bed and raced to Jack's room urgently. I shouted for him to hurry as I attempted to both put tights on with one hand and brush my hair with the other. Jack had visible bags under his eyes from being woken under 3 minutes ago. With a toothbrush hanging from his mouth, he sluggishly pulled on his school uniform from yesterday. I decided that it would be easier for me if Jack was to walk to school this morning. The school is only a 5 minute walk away however I usually drop him off as I don't like him crossing the road, sometimes Jack can get lost in his extensive imagination and forget to focus. I had 4 minutes to get to work, way across the city, and driving Jack an extra few minutes when he could walk himself was not something I was going to prioritise today. I sent Jack on his way, and raced to work as fast as I could.

My day was hectic and long, between my boss giving me daggers in the hall for being late, forgetting half my work at home, I was no ones favourite person in the office today. I sat at my desk with my head in my hands hoping I would get a few more seconds alone when my phone rang. The piercing sounds echoed through my head as I clicked answer.
'Jane Rodgers?, we've been trying to get a hold of you for a while now. Your son has been involved in an accident' The words stuck to me like glue. My heart dropped and my body went with it. My whole body was lifeless, my brain was telling me to go to the hospital. I dragged myself to my car and for the life of me I can't remember the journey there, it was a blur. I remember standing in the hospital screaming Jack's name, praying someone would help me. A doctor took my arm and sat me down on a chair. She explained to me that Jack was hit by a car on the way to school. He was in a critical condition when he arrived and he had fought for hours. I was numb. Tears flew down my cheek but it didn't feel like my cheek anymore. It didn't feel like my body. I couldn't feel anything else other than a pulsing pang of devastation and pain in my heart, spreading all over my body. I grabbed my face and screamed into my hands, I didn't want to hear this, this cant be happening, this morning he was a happy, bright intelligent boy with so much to offer the world. Just a few hours earlier he was my beautiful little boy so full of life and hope.

I walked into the room. It was cold. Too cold. The room my baby died in shouldn't be this cold. The bed my baby died on looked uncomfortable and flimsy. Why did he have to leave this world at all, let alone like this. His beautiful, soft face was so still. His eyes closed, he looked peaceful, I felt my body melt at the sight of him looking so cold. I flinched at the sight of his chocolate ice cream stained school uniform, from the night before. How can one child go from being the very definition of alive and vigorous, to being so still and drained of any sign of life. How could I have let this happen. He was given to me by some kind of higher power, someone had granted me a wish. This child was a gift from god, and I had taken him for granted for one second, and it cost him his life. His death was my fault and no one else's. I could have remembered to set my alarm last night. I could have woken up and taken my time this morning. I could have woken up and decided to give sacrifice a few minutes of my time, in exchange for Jacks life.

Every single morning, I wake up. I go over and over the tiniest details of that night before, that morning of. I write it over and over again to keep myself sane. I write the story Jack told me every day. I write over and over again to remember. I write to pick at the details, to see if I missed something, to see what I could've done differently. My son was given to me so graciously and I was so thankful. The truth was, I didn't deserve him. I was given someone so beautiful, delicate and special, that I was only allowed a short time with him. Everyday I thank god I was allowed the best 9 years of my entire life. Everyday I hate god for giving me the rest of my life, without Jack.