Eyes
Three and a half years later and I still lie awake sometimes worrying about those eyes. Eyes of a tiny, newborn boy. Eyes that I never got to see. I wonder if I had seen those eyes what they would have told me, what I could have known by looking into them. Three and a half years later and I still see the nurse rushing through the room with the tiniest boy I had ever seen. I never saw where she took him. By the time I was sewn shut, he was inside of his incubator and wearing what I thought of as his super hero mask. The mask that protected his delicate young eyes from the harsh lights of his new home. I never saw those eyes. Three and a half years later, I sometimes press The Mister for details that he will never be able to give me because I can't really tell him what it is I want to know. He was taken to that room beyond mine with that tiny little boy. He got to look into his eyes. He got to see him before the tubes and the ventilator and the nurses and the IV's c