Gospel 219 ~For Will, Pancakes, Braxton~

I don’t want to talk about other people’s stories now. It’s only been a few days, and I keep thinking I should write out Braxton’s. That is when I can see straight for a little while. Not from hunger but too many tears. “For Will, Pancakes, Braxton.”

Friday, February 5, 2021

Gospel 219 ~For Will, Pancakes, Braxton~

Hey Lady Sophia,
I AM a Billionaire right now, and I still buy pancakes. I’ve told the pancake stories, and here we go again, ready?

Braxton was young, and I was too old to still live with my Olds; much too old. I had a thing for Aunt Jemima French Toast, or maybe it was waffles. One morning after getting breakfast, I forgot a drink and left the food sitting on my bed. I come back and find this ball of fluff soaked in syrup, a big grin on his face, happy as can be. Well, the next day, I sit a plate of pancakes out of his reach. My Mom comes by and says, “You must really love pancakes.” That’s how I love my son. I would start saying, “I love you like pancakes,” meaning I placed him higher than anything in my life. My heart, my mind, Heaven…

When he was born, though… I wasn’t there. He came into my life in the hands of his grandfather. Braxton couldn’t have been more mine, but he started as a “gift” to my sister. I should have treated him as my “present” every day, but come another Sunday and TWD…

“When you were, uh, pouring the Bisquick, were you trying to make pancakes?” from TWD.

I made Braxton my son. He made me a better man, an alright one, a father. He died Sunday but today’s not that story. Not for you anyway, as I try to block it out, but it plays again; my little boy, dying there. I’ll start crying again, and not a day has gone by without tears. Making other kids…

No, not one could sit in my lap the way he did; how he would curl up as if I were a plate and he was a pancake. No matter what, he was a little prince, and I was his throne. Sometimes he would bring his toy like a scepter and sit it beside me. He would place it in my lap when he rather not be bothered. Near the end, he would lie there, sweating, “leaking” I don’t know what. I still haven’t washed the sheets or his stuff. If it weren’t for work, he would always be on my jeans. Everyone tells me to eat, and right now… Hell, my stomach will be filled, but I am empty. Needing, For Will, Pancakes, Braxton.

I Am Afraid Without Braxton

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