Goodbye is Forever

By Cheryl

EMAIL: Cheryl

How much can a soul suffer before the will to live is lost to the desire for eternal rest? How much do we let someone suffer before our need to have them in our lives gives way to the heartbreaking realization that it is our desire for their closeness that is prolonging their suffering?

When is a body so broken, that our ability to heal is broken right along with it?

I sit here, a broken man. A father who has lost a son. A friend, his buddy, and a child who wants to curl up and let the world pass him by. I can find nothing in this world worthy of my attention any longer. I have nothing left to give, and no desire to try and find something worth living for.

The small, fragile body cradled in my arms is still warm, still drawing breath, albeit softly and ragged. There is not a drop of blood on his body. No cuts, or bruises, and yet with every movement I make, I can feel the scraping of crushed bones. I can hear the slight whimper and wince as the small face scrunches up in pain.

With a gentle touch, I push back the long blond locks that frame his face, and look down into those frightened blue eyes. A single tear is tracking its way down his cheek and I brush it away with my thumb. I can offer no words of comfort. I do not have any left to give, instead I whisper, "Shhhh, there, baby," and pray it will be enough.

Blue eyes flutter close, and moments later his tiny chest raises for the final time. A disobedient tear tracks down his cold cheek and I make no effort to stop it. Let it run. Leaning forward to kiss it away, I hold his tiny, broken body, closer to my chest. I can feel my own tears streaming down my face as I slowly rock back and forth.

Without warning there is a soft hand on my shoulder, making its way up to the nape of my neck, drawing my attention away from our last moment together.

"He's gone, Jack, but he knew you were there. You gave him what he needed at the end. You gave him love. They're waiting for him now."

I nod, knowing that it's all over now, all the hurt is gone, all the pain diminished. I let him be lifted from my arms onto the waiting stretcher. The hand is back at my neck, but I just can't seem to find the energy to respond to its touch.

"Let's get you home, Jack. Let these people mourn their dead in peace."

I can feel Daniel helping me to my feet, wrapping his arm around my shoulder in a gesture of comfort and friendship.

"Home." It was the only word I could manage.

END