It broke your heart to leave him at the door. (He looked so small beside the ageing priest.) You cried hot tears till you could cry no more then stumbled on. This was a different grief to any you had known. Those lonely years (so long) when you’d not had a child to hold had worn you down, had worn you out. The tears came often, but your heart—though sore—was whole. Now it is shattered beyond all repair and as you slowly make your way back home you feel you’ve left a part of you back there— your flesh, your blood, your longed-for, prayed-for son. But you’d still choose the love—despite its cost— over the emptiness. Your heart exults.