He didn’t seem like much at first. All hands and toes and that big head. The woman packed up her newborn with hesitation and stepped out into the cold night air. She wasn’t in the best frame of mind on such a day as the birth of her tiny little child, but she packed him up as if he were a package sent from a distant place.
She walked the weary side road to the lamp lights that were to be her guide home. A stranger looked into her eyes with curiosity, but she sorrowfully looked away. She had no words to describe her mixed emotions. Pain, love, fear, wrapped in a tight blanket of shame.
Life would be hard for Alma, the woman with child, for she was alone in the world without a friend. Day followed night and night followed months. Lowly and poor the two would survive. She kept her head down and found work from odd jobs here and there but no one really cared as her shoulders spoke loud and clear of a woman who was not.
Time and time again she wished to be something else, someone else, not her. Shame was her head covering and she wore it well.
As year moved into years and Alma grew older she came to love her son very well. The pain replaced itself with laughter. They were poor, but they had each other. Peter was his name. She called him so after her deceased brother and even his name would cause her to wince if she thought about it for too long.
(to be continued…) 🙂