[ WP ] A parent explaining to their child that the other parent has died .

She looked down at him sadly. She felt the night around her, smelled the darkening sky, heard the stars come out. She had been drinking. She drank in the evenings now. 
 
 Ever since she had heard. 
 
 She looked down at him sadly. She looked at the soft brown hair, the long nose, the heavy brow, the cleft above his lips -- all these she had given him. All that was in the boy was from her; nothing came from the father. Nothing came from *Him*. 
 
 Ever since she had heard. 
 
 She looked down at him sadly, measuring the contours of his upturned face, marveling at the smallness of his frame, thinking how best to break his heart. In years gone by she would have died before doing it, would have died from doing it. But all that was over, now. All that love and care and hope that had turned a long life of misgivings to a feeble joy in looking on him was gone. It had been gone a while. 
 
 Ever since she had heard. 
 
 `` Oh, little one,'' she said with a sigh that cut off a sob. `` Oh, little one, son of my blood, you do not know. You are alone. You are a fatherless child, an orphan with a mother, a foundling on rocks. Your father is dead.'' 
 
 Laughter welled up in her in spite of her efforts to stifle it. A mad smile. 
 
 `` He's dead, he's dead, he's dead! He was never alive! He never was! I ca n't believe I ever thought he was. I ca n't believe I ever thought he came to me. I ca n't believe I ever thought he had chosen me. I ca n't believe, I ca n't!'' 
 
 The wineskin was empty. She cast it away. 
 
 `` I ca n't, my little one. You have to know. You are not special! You are not chosen! You are not meant for anything greater! None of us is! All we are is born to trouble, as sparks flying upward -- and where do they go?'' More laughter. `` Where, little one? Do you know? You do n't! You do n't know anything!'' Spat in contempt. `` You do n't! Where is that wineskin.'' 
 
 It was on the floor, it was empty. She picked it up, hopelessly. It sloshed -- a miracle at last. 
 
 The boy slept on, ignoring the curse that had been flung at him, flung at him and missed. The boy slept on, still special, still happy, still eager, still strong, still taking a step with every day towards every tomorrow. Still with a mother who loved him, who had given up everything for him, who had won scorn and pain and sorrow for him; a true Handmaiden of the Lord. A mother who now would forget tomorrow what she had said tonight. 
 
 The true Handmaiden unstoppered the wine skin and raised the mouth to her lips. Red rivers ran down them as they parted, but enough went in. 
 
 She drank in the evenings now. She'd been drinking ever since she had heard.
