Darkness will Hide Me Soon

"The child I killed has haunted me for nearly 40 years. Pursued down the calendars of my life by that face, that night, and the grandfather who shouted in my face. A night of panic-stricken faces, crying faces, trusting faces, each looking to me to do the things they knew I was called to do..... And I didn't...."

The child I helped kill has haunted me for nearly 40 years. Pursued down the calendars of my life by that face, that night and the grandfather who shouted twice in my face. I have hidden in my later deeds, tried to balance the books. But to no avail, still I see that old man and still his shouts echo.

Now a grandfather myself, I can understand why he stood, framed by the ambulance doors, tears streaming down an anguished face he cried out the first time that I must, must do more.

I tried, Good Christ I tried, desperate and praying I knelt beside that little still figure, pumping, breathing for both of us, puffing into that wet vomit smeared mouth. Fumbling with the oxygen leads. My prayers were for the still aced child, the parents and that I could turn back time. Back, back to those lessons that I had daydreamed through. Praying desperately and uselessly that their knowledge would come to me now.

I am there again; my mind's time machine whirling tears hot behind my eyes. I can't see out the windows to the night rushing bye outside, I can only see my own uniformed reflection, badges of rank and worth glittering, like false gold, muddled with a mother biting hand and hanky.

Only I can hear myself again silently screaming. "God, God please, please let it come to me; don't suffer the child for my laziness, my ignorance? Jesus, he's not .. Jesus I can't .. I didn't know it would come to this so soon, I was going to do a revision, I really was?", but I can't even think, my panic worse from the howling screams of the siren forecasting the family anguish to come.

The doctor at the surgery where we picked the child up had whispered to us, "He's gone, do your stuff for the parents". With those words she slammed the ambulance door on the beginning of my slide into a life of regret. How I cling to those few words. I try to find solace and blamelessness in that brief utterance.

I drive down that street from time to time; I did so with my 9-year-old granddaughter yesterday. The yellow brick surgery was still there, same tired and dusty front yard, some prams outside showing the trust of mothers for the services within.

Stopping at the small shopping center opposite I asked this wonderful child of my child to get us a coke each. I watched her bounce to the shop, ponytail swinging. A slim and healthy promise of growing life, one of the seven jewels of my grand-fatherhood. She turned and grinned as she turned into the shop door and vanished from my sight. I knew that in a few moments she'd return and we'd share both drinks and love.