Raining more than ever.
The tears fell, and mingled with the rain dripping down my face, rain and tears can’t be separated, unlike dreams and man.
I struggled to open the umbrella, my hands shaking too much to separate the spokes and push it open. I was glad of the rain, sun would be too painful.
I remembered the sign I had ordered, black background, gold edging and lettering, ‘Dan Hunter and Son’. It was due for delivery next month.
Sally laughed when I told her, but she understood my excitement. Our son would be joining me in my business.
The lump in my throat grew and the pain in my chest intensified.
I thought of the phone call, the rush to the hospital, running down the corridors until I reached the ward, bursting into the room as the doctor checked the heartbeat.
The blood smeared face and body of my son, my beautiful son, lay in my wife’s arms.
I filled with pride, reached to hold the tiny hand, and as I did so I realised that something was wrong.
Solemn faces, shaking heads and tears spoke more than words. Grief squeezed my heart, I fell to my knees by the bed.
My son. Born to early.