I remember when you first held my hand. Thumb rather; five over one. Fingers pink in color, gripping tightly as if before you drew your first breath you already knew who I was. As if you were heaven sent, specifically for me.

Little did I know that you were in pain. Consumed by my own, the sound of yours were delayed. Only after did I realize that for seven whole minutes you held onto those tears, and if it wasn’t for your tears we would’ve both been sent to the grave.

*both gasp*

But they came. The sound of your cry, an indication of your pain. That sweet sound of life brought joy to my eyes. And so for seven years I focused on those tiny little fingers holding mine, calling out your name as I sang you lullabies. “…He got the whole world in His hands, He got Emmanuel in his hands…”

But that wasn’t enough. As the years went by, slowly forgetting those tears, I held onto mine.

“Mama, are you okay?”

Looking into your eyes, denying my pain, pushing it aside, replying,

“Yea baby, everything is fine”.

Dying inside, legions clouding my mind, for some reason I couldn’t remember your name! So instead I chose to relieve my pain, forgetting that yours was a sign of life…forgetting that my cries would keep me alive!