Imagining the Unimaginable : A lament

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I sit against the cement block.  The blue, rubber mat sticks under me.  “How did I get here?”   My hands tighten in my fists, my eyes burn from tears no longer able to make water.  My head pounds. My breath ends.  I am trapped. Here.  “What is happening?”  

We made the long journey from the gangs and violence of our streets.  I held him tightly  to my chest as we bumped over rocks and holes in the earth.  I told him we would be safe once we crossed the border.”   My grandmother’s gold, cross necklace glistened in the moon light.  His little hand reached up and rubbed it between his fingers.  I kissed them gently and told him we were in God’s hands.

When we got to the border they took us to a room.  They told me they were getting him a drink and they would be right back.   I waited and waited.  Where is he?!  Where is he?!   I could hear him screaming from the other room, “Mamaaa!!!!  Mamaaa!”    My God, My God, My God, what have I done?  What have I done?  What have I done?  I started screaming, “Give me back my son!  Give me back my son!”   I banged on the metal door until my hands bled. I hit my head over and over again, until ringing filled my ears. I kicked with all of my might.  Please God, NO.

He was gone.  I am here. On the blue, rubber mat.  I must remember that he was wearing a blue and white striped  t-shirt and jeans and green tennis shoes.  I must remember the scar under his left ear from when he hit his head on the counter top when he was two.  I must remember his little hands and his brown eyes.  Oh God, what have I done?  He will think that I did this to him, that I threw him away.  How will he sleep without me as a pillow?  He has never slept without me for day in his life.  His little body has breathed next to mine since before he was born.  Will someone know when he is scared?  Will someone bring him comfort when he cries?  Will someone tell him I love him?  Oh God, please, please let him know he is loved.  Please let him know he is mine.

I sit on the blue, rubber mat.  I rub the golden cross between my fingers.   I find myself weeping again, as the tears come and rock back and forth.  Please God. Please. Hold him. Hold him. Hold him. Hold him. Hold him.  

Deep within me, a stirring occurs.  It comes up into my throat, and I begin to wail.

 

 

 

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