Because He Loved Him

Breathe this air. It’s better for you.

The heavy, cruel stench of abused smoke drifted through the air in a nearly tangible cloud. Unbearable, at times, for the baby boy drifting uncomfortably in and out of his troubled slumber. Crying for sleep, just once more at night. And as the foggy, silver moonlight poured down on his pale cheeks, he muffled his own soft whimpers in the down of his pillow. Rest was absent even still, when the cloud of vile air had passed.

Shh. Morning will come. I promise.

A new day. Another chance. Another fight. Another stretch of endless hours, lasting longer than the constraints of time. More of hearing what his precious ears were never meant to hear. More of seeing what his deep, innocent eyes were never meant to see. And never knowing when the end of it would finally come, when at last he would be liberated from the ropes of neglect, the bindings of disregard, the ties of disownment.

How loved you are.

He stretched his tiny hand to the ceiling, as though reaching for what he could not grasp. Begging for someone to hold that hand. To stroke his rose petal skin. To brush a gentle kiss across his fevered brow. To dry his falling tears and sing him to sleep, with lullabies of soft, ascending notes. Aching for the assuaging voice of a mother, speaking softly against his ear, and with tenderness, smiling down on him in love. Longing for the strong arms of a father, wrapped securely around his tiny body. Holding him close, promising never to let go.

They’re coming soon. Have faith.

The voice of the two that came for him spoke assurance, and promises of love. They were not unlike what he had hoped for, the image of father and mother, smiling and holding hands. They were happy, though incomplete without him. Joyous, though praying for answers. Certain, though leaping with faith beyond what they thought imaginable, deep into their future. The father smiled warmly, unexpected tears at the brims of his eyes. The mother letting hers fall freely down her face, so vibrantly bright with the rejoicing within her heart. How they loved him. And brought him home to where a sister waited impatiently at the door, dreaming of all she would teach him, to read and to write, to clean up his toys and say please and thank you. And a brother not far behind her, eagerly anticipating the day he would teach him to run and play, to throw a football and make music. How blessed and how happy they would be. And altogether whole.

They are yours, and you are Mine.