Small yellow car

We waited in front of the hospital for almost three hours.

They were waiting to make sure my little girl would never cry again. 

The nurse brought out my sleeping girl, bandaged and wrapped in a clean white diaper.

The nurse put her a pink ribbon to make her look prettier. 

I fainted when I saw her placed in a small white casket.

We set off in our neighbor’s little yellow car. 

We wound our way through the mountain road.

I listened and leaned in the back seat.

Nothing was heard, the engine of that little yellow car was not too loud even though it was uphill.

I asked our neighbor to stop.

He stopped, so I could listen again to hear if my little girl was crying in the back seat.

The neighbor continued to drive without saying a word.

I became a father that day, and my little girl saw the world. 

She didn’t feel like it in this world.

It was almost dawn when we arrived in front of the church near the local cemetery.

A chubby monk and a wispy churchman awaited us.

We have prepared everything, said the monk to my father. 

They wanted to tell the churchman to take me somewhere. I didn’t want to.

I wanted to see my little girl off.

I fainted again when a bottomless black pit opened before us. 

They poured water on me.

The churchman sat me down on the neighboring grave.

I was silently looking at the white stone angel.

I staggered towards the exit from the cemetery without tears or sobs.

Goodbye, my beloved baby girl.