The Writer’s Block

I’ve been killing myself trying to write something for the Block. I even went so far as to try some found poetry while I was watching Maury, but you can thank my better senses for not posting that. I thought it would be nice, while I was battling my brain, if I posted something old!

I wrote this short story for a contest. Reese, one of the most talented photographers I know, posted pictures. She challenged us to write a short story about one of them. I choose a beautiful photo of a little boy with his hands in his overalls staring up at the camera. If I could find that photo, I’d post a link, but it’s lost out there in cyberspace. Long story short, I won the contest.

I suppose that makes this an alright story.

Mommy Said Goodbye

His azure eyes studied me carefully, tears forming at the sides. Four years old, my little man, and he could understand; he could sense what my husband could not. Mommy wasn’t coming back.

“Where are you going to go?” he asked, his voice quietly screaming. A wind blew from the west, cold and furious, as though autumn was bidding its last farewell. He stuck his tiny hands into his overalls for warmth, but I imagined it was his heart that needed protecting from this cold, not his hands.

“I’m going to be with Grandma Eileen,” I responded. I forced a smile upon my face, cheerful but not quite deceiving enough. He frowned. “I don’t want to leave you,” I said, bending down, facing those furious blue eyes. “I know it will be hard without me, but I need you to be strong for Daddy. He’s going to have a hard time understanding this. I need you to be strong for him.”

“Daddy says you’re sick,” he said, a single tear creating a rivulet down his cheek. “Will Grandma Eileen have medicine for you, Mommy?”

I nodded my head. “Yes; I suppose she will.”

“Who’s going to tuck me in?” he cried, tears flooding now.

“Daddy’s going to do that. He’s going to cut your hamburger, take you for walks, read you stories. He’s going to do all of that now. And, when you’re older, he’ll be there for your first day of school. He’ll be there when you graduate, when you go to college.” Tears stung my eyes now. “Daddy’s going to do everything mommy does.”

“What about you?”

“Well,” I said, pointing towards the sky. His eyes followed, staring oh-so-sadly at the clouds. “I’m going to be there, watching over you, making sure Daddy does things right. You can talk to me whenever you want, but I won’t be able to talk back. But I’ll always be there, right there above the clouds.”

A bird twittered from far away, a signal that brought me out of the clouds and down to earth. “I need you to go inside now,” I said, eying my son, my heart hurting with the pain he would feel in the future. “I need you to go inside and play in your bedroom. Don’t leave your bedroom until Daddy gets you. I’ve already called him. He’s on the way, and I think the police might be coming too. But don’t you leave that bedroom until Daddy says you can. Promise?”

He held three fingers in the air. Scout’s honor. “I promise.”

“Off you go,” I said, turning him towards the house, tapping him on the back as he went. “I love you!” I called out after him. “Don’t you forget that.”

“I love you, Mommy!” he yelled as he entered the house. “Love you lots! Tell Nana Eileen I love her too!”

The front door closed behind him. When I was sure enough time had passed, I brought the gun out of the pocket of my windbreaker. It was heavy, as though it was made to be heavy so that people like me would understand the weight of the situation.

I understood. I understood better than anyone. The cancer had spread. Doctors spoke of it as though it was a family activity. “Together,” they said, “you and your husband and your son will get through this, together.” No. They had lifetimes ahead of them, and I was sentenced to death. Together was not an option.

I put the gun to my head, cocking the hammer as it pressed against my temple. “I love you, Jonathan,” I spoke softly. “Goodbye.”