The 17th Jul 2010 WriteOnSite Winning Entry
Unlike that of others who are dragged kicking and screaming into this world, Maya's birth was a gentle affair. She slid from my wife's body in the time it takes to sigh not in sadness but in contentment, with a nudge, not a fanfare. She was a small baby, though perfectly formed, ten even crescents for toenails and ten more for fingernails, a plump unwrinkled face and a full head of dark hair that stood up like a hedgehog made of silk or a black duckling's down. From the very first moment her eyes were open, as though she did not want to miss a single instant of her progress in this glorious world. The faces of doctors and midwives congregated around her, but despite their attempts to provoke it, she did not cry but gazed at everyone present with a calm serenity which would, had they taken the time to think about it, have lit within them a profound understanding of something otherwise escapable.
Outside, the clouds had drifted away from the sun and sped to distant parts of the sky. For the time it takes to inhale a breath, savour it, and exhale it again, people smiled for no reason. Those who were crying stopped. Soldiers took a break, rubbed their eyes and thought of peace. Those who felt fear lost it. Those who felt pain had a respite. Violent brutes stilled and let their arms drop. Bad dreams dissipated. For the time it takes to inhale and exhale, the halcyon ruled the earth, and the world wore a face with only one expression.
The things she could have done! The lives she could have touched!
But my daughter was born with a congenital heart defect, and she lived barely two hours. Two hours of me looking at her perfect little face, two hours of seeing her beauty mirrored in the faces around her, the tenderness and the sadness and the love she inspired.
Perhaps she was too perfect for this existence, and it was not yet ready for her, but for two hours, the world was a better place
This is what I believe.
Copyright © 2008 Rob Richardson. All Rights Reserved.