Sunshine

He was born on an August day. Hottest day of the year. His momma sweated and labored with the strength of twenty men to bring him out. And out he came with a head full of sunshine and eyes like the sky. He matched the day perfectly. And his momma was proud. It didn’t matter the questioning glances of the family and doctors. Because he was different. His head was too round for their liking, the bridge of his nose too flat, and his tongue just seemed to hang there looking for something to do. “Low muscle tone” the nurses noted. “Poor sucking reflex” the doctor saw. “He’s just plain floppy!” grandma would remark. “Well he’s a newborn, give him time” his momma kept saying. She knew he was special, but she knew he was beautiful too. She called him “my sunshine” and sang to him everyday “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy…” And he did.

Momma fought with her family. “You can always try again” they’d say. “Oh like I failed the first time?!” she snapped back. She wasn’t only proud. She was stubborn too. Every attack just made her even more so, until it seemed to certain naysayers that her “very ‘semblence don’t look much different than a concrete wall when you look at her long enough”. The difference between mother and son seemed striking. The hard, stubborness of one and the soft radiance of the other. The firmer she stood, the more he seemed to melt with the sun’s rays. She poured all her love into him and he just soaked it up.

As time went on the fighting was less. Things just became accepted as “the way things are”. Though dad occasionally grumbled “He goes to such expensive schools, you think he was Harvard bound..” And often things got lonely. It’d be a similar scene. The sunshine would be peering through the glass window, sun shining in--sunshine staring out. “What are you looking for honey?” his momma would say. “Friends”, the sunshine replied, his blue eyes more cloudy than usual. “I know, honey. I know....Hey! I know! Let’s go to the park.” “Ok, momma.” But happy were the few that sought out the sunshine, and found something warm to hold on to.

The spark of light is a fickle thing. Just when it seems to be glowing brightest, something comes and blows it out. The sunshine slept in early one day. Momma was worried. She couldn’t seem to get him out of bed. He kept wanting to sleep. “C’mon, wake up my sunshine,” momma urged. But the sun refused to rise. When his golden color started turning white and his lips and fingertips turned cold and blue, she called the hospital. She brought him in quick. They took x-rays and gave him antibiotics. It was a fighting case of pneumonia. And he fought back. But things just went from bad to worse. He was transferred to the ICU. It was a couple long, sleepless days and nights. The priest came for last rights. The sun received The Son. Momma held on desperately… But the time was coming.

HIs breathing was slowing. It only came in gasps now. And she sang--no prayed--quite helplessly one last time “You are my sunshine..my only sunshine, you make me happy” her voice cracked “when skies are grey...you’ll never know that’s how much I loved you” she sobbed. “Please don’t take my sunshine away...Oh please don’t take my sunshine away…” But the sun was fading. And it happened all too quickly, and it seemed just as you never quite catch the exact moment the sun passes the horizon--one minute it is there--the next it’s just gone out of sight, and all that remains is the colors in the sky to remind you of what was once there. And as hard and solid as the concrete wall had appeared, in one fell hit it was cracked. From her top to her bottom she had been cracked and crumbled.

Weeks later she would remark “he was what kept me strong…” Damaged though she was she somehow journeyed on. She limped. She lost weight. The same onlookers remarked “skinny as a rail--you’re afraid if you stop looking at her she just might vanish and be gone!” And it was no secret she wanted to be gone. She wanted to be swept back up to her sunshine. But something deep inside her kept whispering, as dark as the night got, and she reflected one sleepless night to her husband “He was a gift. I labored him. But I didn’t make him. I didn’t give him sunshine curls and eyes as the sky. I didn’t make him. And I didn’t keep him glowing here. And I didn’t take him away. And, I guess...well I didn’t make me either. I don’t keep willing I wake up another day, but I do. I suppose it ain’t fitting I check myself out early now, huh? He’ll take me when he does.” It’s a long night waiting for the dawn. But eventually, it comes.