If I Could Bring You Back to Life for Just One More Hug

Daily writing prompt

If you could relive one year of your life, which one would it be?

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After three miscarriages and being told that I would never have a successful pregnancy, I gave birth on December 18, 1975, to a healthy baby boy, whom I named Malcolm because my mother refused to allow me to name him Hezekiah. I called him my “black knight.” He was so beautiful, all cleaned and greased up when he was placed in my arms.

I couldn’t stop thanking all the doctors and nurses for this miracle, and I gave the Lord praise for proving that nothing is too hard for God to do, regardless of what people said was impossible. I loved Malcolm, and he was a wonderful addition to our family of five: my four adopted nieces and nephews and me.

When Malcolm was five months old, my then-husband refused to continue to support our family, so I packed up the baby, with the older four children remaining with my mother, and moved away to find work. It could have been a really bad year, but I found a job that I remained in for twenty-three years, and I enjoyed being with my little man. I loved his smile, especially after a 12- or 16-hour day at work.

In January 2006, at 30 years old, Malcolm had a heart transplant. We were so happy that he would live a long life. But on August 12, 2006, he died. He stopped taking his rejection medicines. He was about to have both big toes amputated because of poor circulation, and I guess the pain was more than he could take, or maybe it was the thought of living in a wheelchair, dependent on others.

If I could go back to 1975-1976, that year when Malcolm and I had the adventure of our lives. I watched him grow from an infant into a toddler. Although he spent more than half a month in the hospital with meningitis when he was ten months old, he was such a happy boy. I would so love to hug him and hold him in my arms one more time, to see him smile when I walk into the room, and to make him laugh. If I could replay that year so he would always be alive, I would. But I believe I will see him again in the great, getting-up morning when the saints go marching home, and I will never say goodbye to him again.

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