I cried, because until he came, I had never really known - or perhaps I had forgotten - how it felt to have to account for my life, or what it meant to live for someone else. I realised the full weight of the responsibility I had towards this utterly defenceless and clueless creature. And it hit me so hard, the knowledge that the amount of fear is proportionate to the amount of love. Up till that point, I had been living my Life with so much abandon - what's the fear when one has nothing to lose? But the arrival of my son changed all the rules of the game ...
I knew that I could never again indulge in my bouts of recklessness, nor taunt Fate with mindless and random deeds of madness. I could no longer go about my days not caring whether "tomorrow" ever came. All of a sudden, my existence made a difference, but I didn't want to accept that, because I never wanted to matter that much; not to myself, and not to anyone.
Looking back now, I'd like to think that the birth of my son was an act of divine intervention, because the concept of children had been so distant from my mind that it didn't even register as a possibility. I choose to see it as God's way of ending my tenure as one of the walking wounded - a rude but necessary, and inarguably effective, awakening.
My son was a gift, as are all my children. And thanks to them, I'm slowly beginning to heal, to break down the stone walls of indifference, and learn what it means to cherish.
"I must learn to love the fool in me; the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries." - Theodore Rubin, Love Me, Love My Fool, 1976
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