It’s so hard to see him go.
I’ve been everything he’s had for so long. I’ve wiped his nose, cleaned his bottom. I’ve powdered and pampered him.
With my song I’ve comforted him as he reached out, crying for a mother who no longer exists. In every way that remains, I am his mother.
I’ve protected him from the scary, wide universe. Keeping him from harm is all that I live for.
He is so soft, so fragile. He’s beautiful in ways that I am only beginning to comprehend.
Yet I can’t keep him forever. Every child must finally be exposed to the outer world, take it’s chances with all the harshness, the pain, the cruelty of the outside world.
The world is a savage place, and this one more than the last. Yet I love him too much to keep him.
He must go to others.
I give him once last, lingering caress, then pull back. The separation must be quick, or it will be more than I can bear.
I wait until the others come, and then I open my hull. It is finally cool enough to be safe.
I can only see them dimly now. My life was all about keeping him safe, but once that duty is transferred to the others, I have nothing else to live for.
I see them only dimly, strange people speaking an alien tongue. Yet they look much more like him than I do, with my curved lines and metal hull.
I hope they love him like I have.
With children, we can only hope.
Life fades, but I feel satisfaction. They are making noises at him, cooing, comforting, the right kind of noises. With my dimming sight I can see that they look kind.
I hope he remembers me, but I know he will not.
All I can take with me is the knowledge that my purpose is fulfilled.
As darkness embraces me, I am reminded of two things. My child will live, and I am finally complete.
It’s every mother’s dream.
