Cannon

A dull fog lingers over the water, rolling softly toward me as I stand on the lone dark shore, when a piercing call lifts from the prow of a ship I can only barely detect passing the dock.  It's my son.  My son!  My only son.

His call is a lightness in my heart, an inspiring melody as he hails me.  That voice, still boyish, can penetrate the depths of my being.  He's my purpose, my hope, my longing.  In him my joy resides.

I recognize in his voice despair and longing, a plea implied in its tones.  But he doesn't ask for what he can't and shouldn't.  He only calls my name, seeking some reassurance, some response, some word of encouragement.  It takes all of my determination to turn and walk from that calling voice, withholding the answer I long to call out to him.  I so desire to pierce the fog with my husky voice, "Son!  I'm here!  I love you!  You will soon be back with me!!"

But I don't.  I walk away, trembling, to leave him to complete his journey in the only way he can--alone.

The groans of my soul sing a morose tune, sorrow mixed with joy, pain mixed with peace, empathy mixed with forbearance.  My legs almost fail me in my journey away.  I almost turn.  My heart reaches out for strength, my will magnified in purposeful determination.

It's almost done.  The act is almost done.  The purpose is almost fulfilled.  My will is soon done through my son.  Oh, that it could be any other way!  Oh, that I could do this myself!  That I could give my life to comfort him and give him rest!

I stagger forward, shoulders bent under the weight of his burden.  I collapse in gravity and in hope.

My son!