text: It had been twenty-four years since she’d last seen it, but the place looked exactly the same. Sarah, a withered and depressed, woman, had seen too much sadness in her life to believe she could ever be brought down by a simple decaying abandoned building. And yet, here she was. Her will crumbling. Her faith washing away with the rain, standing before this brick and stone. Clothing, tattered and worn, provided no protection from the rain. Although her skin was wrinkled and soaked, she did not feel the cold. The rain poured down as if God himself was crying. Each drop of rain adding weight to the steps of the people who passed. The building loomed gloomy and treacherous over the precession, taunting them with its dangerous and hollow darkness. The memories and secrets that this building held scared the passing pedestrians. It put speed in to their steps, unconsciously driving them forward until the overwhelming shadow was far enough behind them that their minds could once again rest. In the few moments that Sarah had been standing there, most people who passed thought she was just another crazy street person who was lost and drunk; not worthy of their time. They were more concerned with rushing by, thinking of someplace safe and warm they would rather be. They could not be concerned with this sad, decrepit woman who stood crying in front of an abandoned building; although, no one could see her tears. The rain hid her torment from the rest of the world, for now at least. That is exactly the way Sarah wanted it. Why share a pain no one else would understand? But she was here now to face it, to face the pain. Twenty-four years. She could not believe it had really been that long. He would have been twenty-four years old. But thoughts like that were just a distraction. The place had shut down not long after she was a patient. Too much filth and grime had built up. Hospitals are supposed to be clean and white. Sarah didn’t think that this place had ever been clean or white, even on its first day. But this place was always meant for the lesser, the lower, the unimportant. So, did it really matter if the ceiling leaked or there were blood stains on the sheets? She now stood outside and realized that while it seemed so derelict and dirty, it really did look exactly the way it had before. Sarah had been like a child herself when she first arrived, or at least she was as innocent and unworldly as a one. She had only lived in two homes. The one she was born in and the one she shared with David. David had been a nice man. Sarah’s mother and father had selected well. But you can’t make strangers into a couple overnight. Sarah had been so scared the first night they were together. She was still scared now sometimes, and they had been married for twenty-five years. The first few months had been pleasant and illuminating. Sarah learned many new things about what it takes to be a wife. She was not unhappy, but was not settled. David was a stranger, and love did not yet seem to be a factor in their relationship. The night they arrived at the hospital was rainy and cold, just like this night so many years later. Sarah had been in absolute terror. Her body was ripping apart. Just getting from the car she had stopped twice, doubled over in pain. At the door, an astute orderly recognized her distress and brought a wheelchair. Her wide eyes admitted no thanks, only fear. David pushed the wheelchair, gently maneuvering around chairs and other people. Her condition was very obvious, so they didn’t have to wait. Straight to the OB ward they went. Sarah had known she was pregnant. It was obvious after two months of no bleeding. But, even though she had only a vague understanding of anatomy and procreation, her body had felt so different. She had immediately guessed correctly that she was pregnant. It felt part of her; an extension of her being. Sarah also had known right away that it was a boy. David was not so sure and very superstitious. He refused to even acknowledge the possibility of a child until Sarah started to gain weight. Finally, one night when David put his hand on Sarah’s stomach and felt the baby kick, he smiled, sighed, and seemed to accept the obvious. The night he came, there was no doubt. Uncertainty, pain, fear, but they both new he was about to arrive, and they both, in their way, were hopeful. They were still strangers to each other in so many ways, but they had this together. They were now bound forever by this single union of their two selves. Nature is tricky in that it sometimes makes hard things easy, laying the trap of a false sense of security. Sarah labored, and David paced. The night was long, but uncomplicated. He came into the world as he should; strong, loud, alive. Everyone was overjoyed. Sarah and David beamed at their son. They were completely lost, tranquil and proud. Sarah desperately need sleep. A nurse came and said that he could sleep in the nursery for the night. Sarah was reluctant but could barely keep her eyes open. The nurse gently picked him up and quietly left the room. Sarah was asleep before the door closed. As she thought back on that night now, she lowered her head in shame. She should have never been so weak. She should have never let him go from her side. For the millionth time, she cast blame upon herself. David was right. That night, she failed at her first task of being a mother. God must have known she was incapable. She knew something was wrong when the nurse woke her. It was not a gentle tug from sleep, but a shaking call. The nurse asked where David was. Sarah didn’t know. She was groggy and felt ill. Something was wrong. The nurse looked like she was about to cry. She spoke softly and said the words that would haunt Sarah for the rest of her life. He died. Sarah stared at the nurse. She could remember the horror that washed over her. It couldn’t be true. She had just given birth. He had been right there. She leaned over the bed rail and threw up. David came rushing in. Someone had obviously told him what happened. He did not rush to Sarah’s side. While she had fear, he had anger in his eyes. He yelled at the nurses. He yelled at Sarah. What had happened? Who was to blame? Sarah did not listen to any of it. She would later learn the details of his one and final night. But the details didn’t matter. She had let him go. She had not been there. Now twenty-four years later she stood in front of the building where his whole life had taken place. She had not known she would be facing this today. She didn’t come to this part of town often, and had blindly walked down the street without thinking. Maybe the rain distracted her. Maybe she needed to see the place again. It was cold, and she knew she couldn’t stand here much longer. Not without drawing attention; a crazy lady standing in front of a crumbling hospital, crying. She turned her back to the building, and started to walk away. As she moved, she had hoped the memories would become distant as well, wash away. They did not. She still could smell him. Still could feel his warmth, even through the rain. She could still feel the terror and David’s anger, that had never really gone away. No other children had come. No other opportunities for redemption. She felt alone in the world. The following years had not been kind. While she entered the hospital as a child, she left a broken woman. David told her to forget him. Move on. But she never did. She knew that he had been there, been her love, been her child. She remembered, and that was all that mattered.