Memories

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Memories is a story I would like to share with other like-minded writers. Enjoy

Submitted: April 09, 2017

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Submitted: April 09, 2017

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Memories

By Mabaker

 

 

He died way too soon. I stood at his burial plot and let the tears flow. There was no point trying to halt them, I would just cry later so it might as well be now.

As the first clumps of dirt were shovelled in, I wanted to call out. STOP! He doesn't like being dirty. Please take care where you throw that dirt, or you will upset him.

I never voiced it nor anything else in which my emotions jostled from exasperation while standing before that gaping hole in the afternoon light.

 I wanted to reach down and take him back home, where he would be safe, but I understood they would not let me. They just kept throwing dirt one shovel-full at a time.

I remembered; He wasn't the most beautiful baby, but when he was placed in my arms I never noticed his defect. He was ours, and we never saw the differences. He was the gift we thought we would never hold, and we loved him unconditionally.

 He did everything a toddler does, just differently to others of his age, but every hurdle he overcame we rejoiced. Encouraging him to strive harder, reach further. That he did.

People seemed to forget he was unlike others of his age and watched him do something that seemed impossible, while I stood heart in my throat ready to assist. But he showed us over and over he needed no assistance he preserved until he mastered whatever goal he set himself.

We were so proud of him for his fighting spirit, and he knew that. He'd 'high-five' his dad and then go even harder seeming to have no fear, always discovering something new to conquer.

The time the street bully gave him a hiding was almost the end for me. When I picked him up and saw the many injuries, his little body had taken I cried. It was explained gently because his wounds were so numerous, it was doubtful he would make it through this horrible night.

We sat our lonely vigil and waited. I couldn't even hold him as he lay wired to life-saving machines.  Instead, we cried we prayed and made promises that if he were spared, we would do things differently. Such as protecting him to a greater degree.

That only lasted until he was fully healed; then we were left in no doubt he wouldn't be restricted. He had a life to live, and he meant to enjoy every minute of it, so stop trying to shelter him, and we bowed to his will and gave him his freedom.

 He in return gave us grey hair and heart palpitations. Suddenly, there weren't sufficient hours in the day, he tried to cram everything into the sunlight and warmth of Spring.

Nothing was out of bounds, and I watched helplessly as his reckless adventures took on a new intensity. He was never stupid, he didn't try crossing roads on his own when there was heavy traffic, for that I was grateful.  Also the dark of night. It held no curiosity for him. He was content to lounge around at home, seeming to store up energy for the daytime and adventures.

Then when he got older, we expected a bevvy of friends to share with him new passions. Illegal carry-on with his peers, ladies, and rowdy night-time antics, but for those adventures he had no desire.  We worried the natural fears of parents of healthy young males. Was there something unnatural about his solitary life, didn't he want friends his own age, wasn't he interested in ladies?

Time passed and he ever so slowly started to wind down, the crazy recklessness seemed satisfied at last while his steps sounded heavier, and he loved his bed, choosing to sleep longer in the cold days of Winter.

He celebrated his twenty-first birthday, a milestone we never thought we would see. His deformity had never bothered him before, but now he seemed content to be a real 'home-body'.  He developed a gut and put on weight from over eating. Though he was still the same to us.

Then in what seemed the blink of an eye, he was gone. One cold winter night without even a goodbye, just quietly asleep. I stand taking from the warmth of my heart so many memories, one after another. The last of the dirt covers his casket, and I whisper a final "goodbye" to our wonderful friend, who we shared our love and hearts, at twenty-one years of age, our blind-born cat.  R.I.P

 

 

 


© Copyright 2017 mabaker. All rights reserved.

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