It had been a long day, my back ached from all the bending and stretching I had done today. I really just wanted to sleep but he just wouldn’t allow me; you know how they are. Oh, I love him dearly! With everything in me, I love my baby but what was I to do in such a state? Tired, haggard and smelly, I would have preferred to take a soothing bath first but well he didn’t let me. But his crying increased and I had no choice but to carry him. He started tugging at my blouse; oh this son of mine! I knew what he wanted but couldn’t he wait a little while? Did you say I’m his mother? Of course I am, I know I’m his mother! But a mother was tired and at the point of fainting, couldn’t I have gotten a bit of rest?
Reluctantly, I pulled down my blouse, gently let out my milk-heavy breast and placed a nipple in his mouth. Oh, did he lap at it! I laughed as I watched him suck so eagerly, as the milk continued to flow freely into his mouth. I decided to rest my back against the bed and cuddled him closer, giving him better access to my breast. He put his tiny hands on it as if to clutch it and drag it more into his mouth. Oh, my little darling. Such a bundle of joy and laughter, I thought.
It must have been an hour before I knew what had happened, perhaps less or more. I was walking down this lush garden, the scent of roses dominating my nose and filling my heart and mind with thoughts of love. I had never felt so relaxed in a long while and I skipped around the gardens, stopping to touch this tree or admire that flower. The ambience was peaceful and the atmosphere was inviting. I loved it here. I started to walk over to a quaint little seat that had glasses of what appeared to be warm milk on the tables around the seat. I think there were little muffins as well, I’m not sure though. I sat down and sighed heavily, this is what peace really is, I thought.
Reaching for a sip of the glass content, I suddenly heard a loud cry, sounded like a baby to me. My first instinct was to stand up but it was too peaceful to get stressed over a baby; moreover, it was not my baby, was it? I tuned out the second bout of cry, this time sharper, and forced myself to have a drink of the warm milk. As it reached my throat, I began to choke! How could I choke on warm milk? Was this possible? As I dropped the glass to try to calm myself, I felt like the milk was being poured into my mouth at an alarming fast rate and I couldn’t get it to stop. What is this? I struggled to stand up again but I felt glued to the seat.
It seemed like hours before I eventually calmed down and by the time I did, I woke up to shouts around me. Was this still in the garden or had that been a dream? It wasn’t up to a minute when I finally came back to consciousness.
“My baby! Where is Jola? He was sucking at my breast just now but…” I looked up to find my husband cuddling my baby and reached for him but the others around would not let me. “I want to hold my baby! Who is his mother, is it me or you?” I was shaking from the dream I had just had and I wanted to hold my Jola but they wouldn’t let me. Why?
“Why won’t you let me hold Jola? Give him to me!”
My husband looked up to me and for the first time, I saw pain in his eyes, Somehow, I found myself at his side and finally got a chance to carry my baby. His eyes were closed and he looked so peaceful. “Did you rock him to sleep?” I gently asked but his eyes seemed adamant to hold on to the pain in it. I looked around the room and was greeted with cold stares, sobs and shaking of heads. I managed to look back at my baby and shook him, tickled him and even slapped him. His body was getting cool as were his eyes void of any emotion.
“Jola?” I called to him. Now that I recount, perhaps I called to his soul and not the body for his body was gone but I still believe his soul lives on. My baby boy had died at the suck of my breast, milk overflowing into his tiny mouth and me, his mother, asleep and dreaming of the horrors that he went through. My only conviction is that I experienced the horror as well, but oh that I could have embarked on that last journey with him.
* Based on a real life story.
As usual, your comments bring out the beauty in our stories. We love reading them. Have your say in the comment box. To share the story, click on the Facebook share button on this page or on our Facebook.