The rain fell as though the skies had been pregnant and their waters had broken. Literally. We had been waiting for the rain for the last year, but as it fell then, we thought it would never stop and we slowly began to find ourselves for the dry, hot days we had grown so accustomed to. Ungrateful? Perhaps.
It didn’t rain. It poured.
The rivers that had been so dry for so long flowed once more carrying everything that could not be held down to the ground. Our homes, the young animals my nations farmers kept, and the very soil from which we made a living, it was all swept away to a faraway ocean- leaving our homes, our hearts, and our food stores bare and squallid.
It is a funny thing to look back on something for which you have prayed so hard, something you have persued so fervently and to see it become the bane of your existence. To have your own mother regret your being born. My beautiful mother look back at the day of my birth with regret. No. Let it rain. Let it pour. Let all the flowers and trees drink their fill.
A gift for which all your life you’ve prayed, and the day that you receive it- you wish you never had. I read somewhere that a parent bereaved of their child feels the same way. Could you come to wish you’d never had a child, and regret each moment spent with them because after all of it, you had lost them? I don’t think I could.
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This is the only thank you I need.