"Life is the price we pay for running away from death "
































































I watched him with overwhelming sorrow. With its every beat my heart was pumping fear, more than blood. There was a quivering sense of helplessness that ran through my veins as I watched his frail body lay morose on the couch, his eyelids twitched occasionally and he shuddered in his sleep now and then.

My boy, my child, all of 2 years old, still taking his baby steps on to the stage of life, lay there sick and shivering. He had been down with some strange bout of viral fever, which ravaged his body in unpredictable ways - sometimes sprouting rashes all over, and sometimes vomiting all over. One minute his body was burning with temperature, and another moment lifelessly cold. The unpredictability gave me shivers as I did not even know what to pray for: the moment I open my lips to pray to cure him of something, his symptoms would change.
 
Was it justified that a baby - a helpless creature that lives at the mercy of others - should be ravaged so much? Wasn't his helplessness already a punishment? Why would anyone want him to suffer more?
 
Every once in a while, he would open his eyes and look randomly around, like he did not recognize the place. At moments when he looked at me, his eyes would go blank. Like the expression on the face of a man who has lost everything. But I knew it couldn't be despair. He was still not old enough for it. In his sleep he would murmur, make grotesque expressions, and toss and turn. There was a gentle moan accompanying his every breath.
 
It was a hapless sight on two counts. On the one hand, was a hapless child who could not convey most of what he felt - he probably did not even know what was happening to him, why he was in that position, and how he landed in it, and on the other hand, was a hapless parent who knew exactly what his child was going through but could not help him in any way, though the prayer did cross my mind if I could transfer the babe's pains to me and suffer it with more discernment. I could not bear to see fear robbing the colours out of the face of my innocent infant, but I had no choice. I had submitted to the will of the doctors and had to wait for their benevolent and adept hands to rescue my child for me. I was as hapless as my child was, and, quite unfortunately, the only thing that I could give to my boy, was sorrow (though it wouldn't help him any bit). I prayed for him, feared for his life, cried for his happiness, but all that was enveloped into a mighty large wave of sorrow that washed me away from the shore of determination into a sea of helplessness.
 
I could only feel sorrow, and look up at the heavens, where, far out of my senses, was another parent, that looked down upon His hapless children and felt the same sorrow.Sorrow united us all.


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