Me Bairden (My Baby)

She saw the moon over the cliff and heard an infant’s cries coming from the top of the cliff. The helm wind brought the shrill cry to her ears. She struggled with the dense fog and reached the heights and discovered the little midget lying inside a basket that has been carefully wrapped with a quilt. The child’s face was visible and it was evident that it needed some warmth or it wouldn’t survive the piercing, boisterous night. She took the baby in her arms and felt something; long-dead emotions swelled up within her. Her warm tears touched her cheeks and comforted her broken heart that has been filled up with bitterness. The tear drops washed them away like little hands wiping down the window panes on wintry days to let the sunlight peep in.

After forty years of losing her only child, she had never cared for any other little soul. She despised them; loathed them. Their voices would fill up her inside with the vomit of disgust. It tasted bitter. Motherhood died with the death of her two month old boy. All emotions, warmth and feeling died when her little one was slaughtered to death by the villagers because apparently the child looked like a ‘giant’, a ‘demon’, like ‘satan’ himself. The innocent soul was killed because he suffered from a rare disorder called Cutaneous Porphyria. Unbeknownst to the narrow minds of the villagers this deadly disease not only led to the death of the child, but the family died as well. Her husband left her and she lost everyone she had ever loved. When every person abandoned her she never uttered a single word. She was numb the whole time. Something died inside of her and took away all her warmth like the helm wind does to its environment. People used to call her names and children used to throw stones at her. She hardened herself like a rock and never uttered a single word.

However, today under the moonlit night she cradles the baby in her arms and smiles for the first time in decades. For the first time in eons sunlight touches the hard rock and both know they have come home. The abandoned baby sows seeds of hope once again in her heart. The moonlight also shares in their joys by enveloping them in its silvery magical splendor. She gently kisses the baby on his forehead and whispers faintly, “Me Bairden.”


Photo by Jimmy B