My Wayward Son

My Wayward Son

My Wayward Son

I am trying to hold myself together, but the pieces falling are more than I can carry. The green neon lights of the display show me your lifeline, strong and steady, as you always were. They say a mother’s love is unconditional, unwavering. I did not care for that saying until I lost my own mother at the age of sixty.

But now I understand. Now that I see you, my little boy, laying there so still with empty eyes gazing at the ceiling, I realise the mistakes that I’ve made. If only I had guided you more through the pain you were fighting. Would you have made a different choice?

I cannot bring myself to look at you anymore. The sound of your racing heart beat is enough to feel as if it is my own heart that is being caged. The beeping sounds vanish. Your audience releases a common breath they did not know they were holding.

Before I walk out of the room, I dare to give you one more glance, but I don’t see you. I don’t see my little boy. I can only see the lifeless body of a man that I never knew. The body of a monster, strapped against a metal table to pay for the horrifying crimes he committed.

The room is still filled when I step outside. Two families are wandering there. One that has finally found a way to move on, and one whose grieving is only about to start.