He's dead. At nine months old, before I ever saw him. A little baby born with such a short lease on life. And his parents, his big brother who had made such plans for him, they are left, with an empty room, his scattered toys and extra formula in the fridge.
His funeral is today. I sent Sympathy Lilies. Wholly and utterly inadequate. But his parents don't want to talk to anyone right now. They cannot think, can barely comprehend this great tragedy visited upon their little family. Even if they would talk what could I say? I know it's not what you say...it's just letting someone know they are cared about, that they are not alone. But really, what comfort is that when the baby you carried within your body is today being put into the cold, hard ground?
When your heart is broken and your soul is crushed what recourse do you have?
I had written a story on chowk, 'The Drive,' about something similar. Click on the link on the title of this blog to read it.