IF ONLY .........

She came round the bend in the road, a sudden cold grip of fear hurrying her footsteps into a stumbling run. Pushing open the door with hands that trembled violently, she rushed into the house, calling out his name again and again only to be met with a still, bleak silence. The bright colours of the wild flowers in their jugs and vases that he had picked for her only yesterday seemed to fade before her panic-stricken eyes.

Running distractedly from room to room, feeling the chill emptiness surround her without his quiet presence, she realised with abject despair that he had gone. This tragic, flawed child of hers had, by this last heartrending gesture bestowed upon her the freedom he was so painfully convinced she yearned for - to be rid of him for good. She gave one long, desperate cry, then sank to her knees and wept, the rock-hard ice that had formed round her heart at his birth melting into a torrent of love for him.

Now it was too late, and the poignant finality of the words "… if only…" became a dreadful reality to her.

He was gone and would never know how much she loved him, with a fierce maternal love that rushed through her veins and flooded her soul. She wept until she felt her heart would surely break, sobbing his name out loud and begging his forgiveness over and over again in a voice that grew cracked and hoarse with her cries.

Erik ... my son, my son ... oh, Erik...

How could she have ignored those pleading eyes which yearned for understanding, the little fragile body, arms outstretched with longing to be held close to his mother. Oh, but she could not bear to think of the pain of his suffering at her rejection.

If only she had hugged him, kissed his damaged little face.

If only ... oh God, if only ...

The torn and muddled emotions of the past wasted years racked her body. Worn and utterly spent with a heartache so intense she felt she would die of grief, exhaustion finally overcame her and she fell into a deep sleep.

She slept for hours and hours, strange dreams pervading her sleep. She seemed to smell the perfume of roses, and hear exquisite music. A wondrous building with a sweeping expanse of wide marble stairs formed a dream, and the face of a lovely, wide-eyed young girl appeared constantly throughout. The girl had the voice of an angel, so pure and clear it was as she stood at the foot of those stairs with outstretched arms, singing with such passion etched across her beautiful features as she pleaded in song.

Angel of Music ... come to me ... my Angel …

The dream brought forth another voice from deep within her soul. It spoke to her with great gentleness as it made her aware of her son's destiny.

The voice stayed with her until she woke. Rising from her bed she went to the open window where the night was fading into the dawn of a new day. The scent of the wild flowers from the fields filled the air as the dreams of the night enveloped her in a uniquely consoling warmth. Slowly the shadows lifted from her heart, leaving her with a sense of peace.

She held Erik's discarded mask close to her face and prayed for her son, prayed that he would be guided and guarded along the difficult path of his life until the time came when he could abandon all his defences and understand at last when he found the love and true beauty his soul craved.

Her son, her adored Erik with his distorted, deformed face, born with the awesome mind of a genius and the courageous heart of a lion would, she knew beyond all doubt from that serene voice of the spirit, find love and be loved in return. From his tragic birth until his final threshold, her son would inspire love far, far beyond his lifetime. That love would blossom and flourish and would remain forever in all the hearts and minds of those who came to know the story of the dark world of the Phantom, and who would love him for himself.

She knew that she would never see her son again, but she drew great comfort and inspiration from those prophesies of the night.

She pressed her lips to the mask, giving that part of his face which was all she would now ever have of him the caress for which he had always yearned.

If only I had told you how very much I loved you, Erik. Mine is the loss… ever, ever mine … but this I must learn to accept, whereas you, my dearest child, must go forward. May God bless and keep you always.

Adieu, my son ... I love you ... forever and a day.

********************

Many years later, in the middle years of his life, his mother a faint, bittersweet memory, the Phantom of the Opera heard, for the first time, the angelic voice of Christine Daaé and knew instantly why he had been born ....