One might read at the other blog of the danger this younger son of the flesh experienced. There are many words there. Mine would only be that on his steps over the valley from birth to life, he toppled a little close to the end and the pit opened beneath him. But many hands steadied him and he is on his way again.
There have been too many hospitals this last while; too many vigils.
It is a strange time, in a hospital. For us the focus narrows. All breaths are cautious.
In such kinds of fear or pain, there are very few we are able to speak with. And I did fear for this small infant. So small to have such a large hold over me. I held him at night, under the bright lights and with the noises and other, smaller infants about him, the nurses moving to and fro.
I felt his warmth against me and his small breaths, and touched his hand where it was taped to its tubing, and stroked his hair and sang to him a little softly. No one minded the singing. I thought he could hear it, but I was not certain. I considered what it would be for a musician to have a deaf child. And I found again, just like the daughter of our flesh, that in the end function does not matter. I felt that we would find a way, he and I.
And then of course he can hear, and we wept with joy of it nonetheless.
That is true pain and true fear. It is so different from the wounds of love; the wounds of love are deep indeed but they are, after all, of living.
Regardless, it wounded afresh that San and Li and Lohr and Lore have chosen to leave us. In such times one desires the ones one loves. And in the midst of it, two more gates shut against us, this Facebook and this blog.
The warrior queen wonders a little when it becomes wasteland. For them to remove themselves in the midst of it seems uncaring. Not so much that we might not contact them, although we have not in either place. But more that in the removing on Facebook, they would not know whether this son lived or died or remained damaged.
And also because it was a fresh slash. If the relationship were to be dead (and I do not consider it thus), it would be a slap from beyond the grave.
There is a question whether these can be the people we have known. I think so. That edge has always been there; it is a matter of the direction in which it is turned. I have delighted in it at times, and might again.
But then, I have a high tolerance for it and for madness.
It occurs to me that I am most brutal at the start of things. I have eliminated many suitors with a turn of phrase or a scornful song. But once my word is given, it is given. With these, it is when things might be at the end that they are brutal. We will see what their word is worth.
For Magdalena though it becomes nearly impossible. She is determined to carry this child of San’s to term and to birth it, but I begin to wonder if she will survive the leap of faith. It is not so much a leap of faith of love, but it is the staying in the light, alone. I see her waste away, with no father to share in it with her. She is very thin except where the child grows.
It would be easier to take the child and raise him in our way.
If she does not survive the birthing then we will consider the path from there.