The Crucifixion

For thirty years
I had
looked after him;
looked out for him.
I had
held him;
taught him;
nurtured him;
brought him up;
encouraged him
to be the man
he is.
It had not always been easy.
I had known from the start
that he was
different;
that he had been
born for a purpose;
a purpose
higher
than I could understand.
I had been warned
that it would be
costly
but,
surely,
it couldn’t end
like this.
Surely
God,
his Father,
would step in
and save the situation;
save him.

This is
His Son
up there,
dying.

This is
my son
up there
dying,
and
I can’t help him;
I can’t get near him
to touch him;
to hold him;
to tell him
that I love him.
I want him
to know I am here;
to know I am staying here;
to know I will not desert him;
to know
that I love him;
to say
goodbye.

Why
don’t they leave him alone?
Why
can’t they be quiet?
Why
don’t they all just go away
and let me
be with him?
Oh, Jesus.
Jesus, my son,
look at me.

He has looked at me.
He has seen me.
He has spoken to me.
Oh, Jesus,
my Jesus,
words are not needed
between us
anymore.
You know
that you have
my heart
for ever,
and I know
that I have yours.
I do not understand
what is going on
but
I know
that this
is how
it has
to be.

Goodbye
my son.
Go
to be
with
your Father.



© Kathleen Wilks