I stare at the flouorescent screen willing away the pain
It remains.
Sometimes in the foreground. And in the background too, sometimes,
but present,
like an achy back that asserts itself when you reach too far for the light.
I do not say this casually;
I know too easily how words are misconstrued and
having spent a lifetime constructing a self out of false idols of what sacrifice truly meant, I understand its currency.
But I would take up the burden of your pain and carry it if I could
If indeed, it could ease your torment. But I know it cannot.
I am not one of those parents who seeks to shield you from hurt.
With careful attention, pain can be a crucible capable of forging the sturdiest and most loving of individuals.
I would not rob you of those lessons.
But suffering is not the only path to empathy and compassion.
And joy always dwells much deeper than the circumstances that commonly appear to birth it.
Nor does wisdom need to be wrought through tragedy.
Sometimes pain just kills.
When did you look in the mirror and fail to see
the cherub who renounced his birthday gifts to charity
or defied his teacher to stand up for his crying friend
or deftly puzzled a thousand lego bricks into flying galactic starships
or sprinkled wisdom seeds wantonly about the things that matter?
or who courageously owned the colors of himself before the world.
What chicanery hides your own beautiful countenance, obvious to others
From you, who hold that face?
and what spellcraft warps the inner light that shines from you?
Powerful must be the illusion to obscure such infinite worth, radiance and depth
from its source
a proximity too near to measure.
But such is not how it works. No sacrifice mollifies. No substitutions allowed.
So instead, I will wish for you my son, the sight my father once wished for me;
to see myself as he saw me
with the beauty, strength, love, wisdom and intelligence
capable of remaking the whole world.
