The end of the road isn’t normally narrow. The end of a day should not be mellow. The end of a regime isn’t meant to be the shallow end. The end of the tunnel is never the focal, or is it? Or the light thereof, brightest?
The end of her heart seemed to not agree. It felt narrowed, so mellow, hollow, if not empty. Nothing made sense except to a small extent, the one, now, oh so dim, ray of hope she had, lit up to date by the scriptures she’d always treasured.
The meaning of which, she agreed with the rest of the world, she didn’t need. Only the experience of it. The tears, had run out but none made cancer ever gentle to her 20- something year old son.
Two young daughters he had, a beautiful wife in a beautiful home. A flourishing and ever growing stretch of youth, learning daily from him. Forging ways forward in the kingdom and their lives, off the counsel and wisdom he gave.
Years of suffering with a number of ailments herself, she’d prayed and asked to give her life for his. Only, nobody listened. The sound of her heart breaking and shattering was so loud as she watched her son painfully breathe his last.
Oh, she cursed everything that took him away from her, from his daughters. She cursed cancer for stealing the light in his eyes, she lamented. Nobody knew or felt the pain. Only his wife, now the widow. Sigh!
Cancer is a curse that should never visit your house, rest in peace George Lwanga.