My Big Hand And His Small Hand

“Mom… Could you bring me to school? It’s the first day.” Wah… My child is growing up.

My big palms swallowed his, leading him into the gates for the very first time in his life time, and in mine, with him.

“Mom…” He was crying as he entered the door into our home, “I got scolded… by my teacher today… she was a meanie…” How could the teacher treat him like this…

“Why did she scold you… Miguel?” I said serenely, he told me everything, and I believed there was not a detail missing out.

“Mom…” slinking around the couch, there is something wrong.

“What, sweetie? Do you have anything to tell me?” I asked as a mother.

“Yes… But…” he sprinted into his room, leaving shreds of paper on the floor. I did not shout, keeping myself collected to have the grasp of the situation. Picking up those debris on the floor, it was his exam results, it was all red. “MIGUEL!” I shouted, my asian characteristic kicked in, the aftermath was unimaginable.

The door flung open without any greetings as the day passed, “Miguel? Are you ok?” no response, “Miguel, come have your lunch.” still none, “Migu…” my voice trailed off into despair, relieving nothing the queer presence of silence, ruminating about the punctured hole that I had drilled in between our worlds.

Days past, months flew, years coruscated, he was graduating, I attended his graduation, being left in oblivion. I was torn up from the inside, seeing him going away with his friends, ignoring the closest people to him, the womb that carried him to grant him a lifetime, a life force where both of us were entangled into this beautiful mess that Providence sewn into our lives.

Disputes between us were the ferrocerium of the fights, hatred grew prominent in our lives, the once naive relationship between us were dissipated into thin air, I had nothing to say, it is my fault, all of it, everything! Blaming myself, scolding myself.

Devastation was everything about me. Darkness slowly engulfed me as time etched through my life force. I was left nothing but a glint of hope that he would return to me just before I died, calling me with that simplistic voice of his, “mom…” His hands wrapped around mine as he witnessed the very life draining out of me by death, Providence set this as such as an important memento of his life.

I left, not knowing about he was sad or not, but I felt blessed to see him, to feel his grown -up hands, and his ethereal voice in my ephemeral life of regret mantled in blessings of hope.

Craving for more? Down below:
Tapering Hope
Chained Parapet #1
One More Moment.
Bitter Coward


Published by zeckrombryan

Hope. Joy. Feelings cloaked as words.

16 thoughts on “My Big Hand And His Small Hand

  1. Thanks for your personal marvelous posting! I certainly enjoyed reading it, you could be a great author.I will ensure that I bookmark your blog and definitely will come back someday. I want to encourage you to ultimately continue your great writing, have a nice day!

      1. In a good way obviously. Because it touches my heart. Like I got that emotional connection when I read it. To be honest the title was what gave me a boom in my heart at first. Great title.

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