The rain falls persistently from a dark, clouded sky, just as my tears stream endlessly, my heart heavy with sorrow.
I didn't want to believe it was true. I didn't think it was possible. After all, Hugo stood there, bright-eyed and whole, intact and happy, with his mother's arms wrapped blissfully around his shoulders. But what of my baby?
Before you left I asked the earth and wind spirits to care for you with their divine protection, but my prayers were in vain. I stood there stricken as I was told that my baby was dead. And why? Had I not uttered the same words in a plea for the safety of my child? Had I not repeated those words every day, every hour, every instant you were out of my sight? Did I not weep the same tears of sorrow when you departed our home, bound for strange lands? Then why was he here, when you, my baby, lay dead?
My Lulu... You were my last! My only! Why was I forced to outlive my baby? No mother should ever live to see her own child buried. And yet here I stand before your grave.
You've just been moved to your final resting place, at last given the proper funeral rites you deserve. The mourners have all gone home, thankful to have been driven away by the oncoming storm, and I stand here before this stone, the only proof that you ever lived and laughed and played upon this earth.
I hold in my hand one of your bracelets, a parting gift Hugo took from your body before he left you in the village the first time you were buried. Its beads will never again jingle on your wrist; the false hope of protection it promised is gone. I will leave it here with you, let it rest on the earth above you, as a reminder to myself of the eternal. Even if you are gone, life goes on. The earth will turn and the wind will blow; they will continue on as always, despite the heartache that will forever live within me.
Goodbye, my baby. Goodbye.