I hear her in the upstairs bedroom, the one that was hers for so long and is now filled with her younger sister’s things, giggling into her phone. “I know, right?” she laughs. I hear the joy, the flirtations, and the cautiously optimistic tones. And I pray. I pray that the boy, the man (this one), on the other end of the conversation hears it too.
Oh, this child of mine…
My first. My first real responsibility. She came to me when I was even younger than she is now. Dropped into my lap, looked up at me with those bluer than sky blue eyes, and quietly called me “Mum.”
Oh, this child of mine…
Whose birth certificate read Baby Girl X until fifteen. This survivor. This woman who works so hard to make her way in the world. This beautiful heart, born without the stops the rest of us carry and use as weapons.
Oh, this child of mine…
The one I refused to give up on and who never ever considered giving up on me. The daughter I grew up with, both of us experiencing growing pains simultaneously. The twenty seven year old who will still come and lay her head on my shoulder while I do dishes and whisper, “I love you, Mom.”
Oh, this child of mine…
Home for the first time in a year. She updates her status. “Another fun day with Mom.” Does she know how much this simple thing means to me?
Oh, this child of mine…
Never thinks twice when she looks me in the eye, grabs my hand, and says, “What would I have done without you?” What would I have been without her? My challenge. My reason for being. My first? She agrees. Little sister needs to be named my medical advocate. “I’d never be able to unplug you. Never.” She and I both know that she’ll be the one holding my hand. No doubt.
Oh, this child of mine…
I have such faith in you. You will find your place, your love, your soft place in this world. You will.
Oh, this child of mine…
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Joan H.
Susan Creamer Joy
A Summer From Scratch
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Comments
Thank you.
The girl is up...we are on our way out for the day. We have coffee to drink and things to share our last two full days together.
And, Ann? I'll take that hug and raise you one! xxxxoooo
I am this tapped-in expression, my feel and touch and ears and heart are yours here
my oldest comes today to help me clear a storage area, and each weekly vist gives me a bit of what you have here. she is 33, and after all this time i get more and more of the 3 year old's love, from way way back, threaded like luminous wire in the living reality of a strong adult human being. Her casual gift to me, of affection that echoes all those earlier mollys, is a second sun rising.
And none of this is 1/10th as exquisite as the pearl you formed here. Did you just breathe this out, one long exhale, no trace of sigh, just sacred prana?
If it all stopped with their late teens, we would boot em out forever. Pardon me. I still have a 15- and 17-year old in the house.
But then they become themselves, and if we weren't jerks, they touch as as you have so elegantly described here.
hear, here. Beautiful, gracielou. you made my week.
To all of my friends who have commented I say thank you for your kind words. I'm just stopping for a moment. I do so love you all.
makes me think of ee:
"here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart "
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
you carry her heart (you carry it in your heart)
This: "This beautiful heart, born without the stops the rest of us carry and use as weapons." oh la la, gracielou
My thirty four (!) year old still puts her head on my shoulder, anywhere, any time, if she feels like it. sigh.
You upend me here. Lovely post.