My Son

My Son

 

 I choked on the smell of blood as it dripped down my face but I didn’t care. He was my son!!

Dying in a place where I couldn’t reach him. Oh, how he use to love it when I held him as a little boy. His soft little hands holding onto my face

 Today it was such a terrible day. My son was hanging on two pieces of wood beaten, bruised, and dying. My mind was numb as the tears streamed down my face.

 I clung to his feet as if that would bring him any sort of comfort. I tried to wipe blood off of his feet with a piece of white linen someone had given me. I don’t even remember it being placed in my hands.

 It was beginning to rain. I could hear thunder and the earth felt like it was trembling but I barely noticed. All I could do was cry.

 Suddenly, this strange noise filled the air, it was like a desperate screaming from somewhere deep inside. I realized that it was coming from me, I was crying out for my son.

 Where the prophets wrong? How could this be? My son the Messiah, King of the Jews, dying!! This must be a mistake, something went wrong!

 As this hideous groaning continued from the very core of me I felt a tugging. Arms were gently trying to pry me away from the feet of my son. My arms were flailing now, resisting the tug.

 No, No!! Came the scream from me.

 I looked up at the face I loved. My son, Jesus, for an instant I caught his eye. As he stared into my eyes it was as if time stood still. My screaming stopped and I was quiet. I saw deep into his eyes the reason. The prophets were right, he would save us but not the way we all thought.

 I no longer saw his broken, bruised body but I saw a glorious King. With his eyes he told the story of love and I could no longer resist his departure. So, with my eyes I told him how much I loved him and we let go and I watched as my son breathed his final breath.