My boy, My hero

He was my son. 

“Lavender’s green,
Dilly dilly,
Lavender’s blue,
If you love me, 
Dilly dilly,
I will love you.”

 

The last of him i could remember was his – bright eyes. They took him, they took all of me.

The last of him i could remember was his – chirpy laugh. They took him, they took all of me.

The last of him i could remember was his – brave heart. They took him, they took all of me.

 

Decked in brutally grey fashionable accessories was all he had with him. Before he walked out that door, his face smeared with fear when agony had barely hit him. His eye twitched as though he was close to drowning within. It submerged his glow, his spark, him.

The long last night had passed and i was greeted only with the arrival of my worst nightmare. The telegram had arrived nearly a month ago and this day was one i dreaded. I should’ve been all mentally prepared but no – i couldn’t run away from the paranoia buried within me. That morning, i woke up extra early to add in the necessary items into his bomb-like bag. Who’d feed him when he gets hungry? Who’d provide him with bananas for energy? Or milk? Or meat? Or perhaps… even love?

Opening the fridge, the bottles rattled with the stench of alcohol diffusing and choking the air. There was nothing left in the fridge but a half empty carton of milk and a few edible rocks of self raising flour. I made my way to the market keeping in mind that he should have his favourite food for breakfast today – tapioca with and coconut toppings.

“$3.20 ma’am”

I ruffled through my coin pouch only to realise I was short of 2 dollars and that man must have taken it – to buy himself some sanity because that was all he was worth.

I could only afford the coconut toppings with the shillings i had.

Upon opening the wooden creaked door, I gently sliced the cold hard bread open with a butter knife and dribbled the coconut toppings all over. Aligning it neatly on the dining table, the front door flung open and walking in unconsciously was the man i will forever and always – regret. Flushed in alcohol and cigarettes, of what seemed to be nights in places that were derogatory to women. He sniffled and shuffled his way towards me. Without qualms or hesitations, that filthy wretch reached out for the cold hard bread.

Overwhelmed in aggression, I grasped it from him. I was in fear, in trepidation. I had triggered him and without any negotiations, he began smashing alcohol bottles all over. He began whacking, shouting and cursing words of disgust and sorrow. The closer he came towards me, the more I saw the devil within those eyes. As I clutched the bread and curled up against the corner wall, the boy – my hero appeared from behind that man.

“Get out! Leave her alone” He commanded.

“Unfilial. Undutiful. Ungrateful. I am your father for goodness sick” still drunk, still not sober. He grappled two more bottles of beer from the fridge before he was hurled out by my hero.

My boy, he knelt beside me using his two thumbs to wipe off the tears streaming down on my cheekbones. Quavering, i lifted the bread to him. Although there was little of coconut toppings left, he ate it like it was fresh from the bakery. The tenderness of every bite, the sweet scent of love.

“I have to go now.” He lowered his head while stroking my hair as a form of assurance.

“You’ll make a brave soldier. You will”

This was the last I’d ever seen of him – my hero.

He was not just mine, he was a hero for this nation. War and conflict had called upon him –  in courage, he has answered.

Today, at his passing, I sing once again

 

“Lavender’s green,
Dilly dilly,
Lavender’s blue,
If you love me, 
Dilly dilly,
I will love you.”

He died for a purpose.

He was my son. 

 

main.army.10.jpg

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s