Skip to main content

I Love Her

She's laying in bed next to me, this child of mine. Ten years old and light years from the chubby baby that we nicknamed Pudget. She lost that name so long ago, we can't quite remember exactly when she shed that round baby body and emerged so tall and lean and beautiful. We must have blinked at some point along the way. The genesis of the woman she is to become in a few short years, silently sleeping beside me.

Her hair is so thick, it lays like a dark honeyed curtain across her face, wisps of it lifting as she exhales out....laying down as she breathes in. Her skin is pale, creamy milk, soft as an angel's wings, spilling out from under her clothes.

Eschewing a nightgown for the simple chocolate colored shirt she wore to school today, she lays on her side facing away from me, dreaming her dreams.

I love her. My heart is filled to bursting with the joy of feeling her warmth beside me. I love her. She will see things that I never will, experience places I've not seen except in books and movies. Already she plays the piano with incredible prowess, a talent I've never mastered.Walking in from her school day it it is her first stop, fingers gliding over the keys and sending the strains of Christmas carols echoing through the house.

I cannot go where she will and she will never know where I have been, unless I tell her and even then the telling is no substitute for the living of it. Our lives have intersected in this short period of time and we will share what we can, leaving the rest to be what it will be.

Quick witted, she often delivers surprisingly funny observations she's made when you didn't even know she was paying attention to you. Oh how I love this child. Ten years old with an old soul capable of authoring stories that amaze the writer in me and warm my mother's heart. I read her words, carefully written with drawings on each page and know that she is gifted. Where I have walked, she will fly. I love her.

Ten years old, sleeping beside me with Mr. Bunbun, her stuffed bunny, pressed to her side. I know this is a fading remnant of the child within and will soon be replaced with other, more acceptably grown up accoutrements.

I love her. If it were possible to stop time and hold her for more than the fleeting moments we are given, I would. Oh, how I would.

Comments

  1. Oh man...that is beautiful. Pardon me I need to go and kiss my 10 year old daughter.

    ReplyDelete
  2. You have a ten year old as well? Aren't they amazing creatures?

    Sometimes I am in awe that I had any part in her.

    Hubby was sleeping in another room last night as he had to wake early to go to work, so Allison slept with me. I spent time lifting the hair from her face and just watching her sleep...which is why I found myself pouring my heart out through the keyboard as she slept. I feel so blessed.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Ha! I think I've already surpassed that part, Pam. And you're right, it was like a flash.

    What beautiful words and lovely emotions. The snapshot of a place and space in time, but so much more.

    ReplyDelete
  4. WW, yes yours are a bit older than mine, aren't they? I know we both share a fifteen year old boy in common.

    My sixteen year old girl is another story entirely.... She wounds me quite often, without half trying, though I don't let her know. I fear my sweet eight and ten year old will be swallowed up in the teenage years and be lost to me for a time as they find themselves. ::sigh:: Ah well. There's nothing I can do but move forward.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Great news that Kitty returned.
    Your entry of 10 year old daughter speaks to all of us who want to keep our children close forever. I can only speak from experience, but the kind of love, and attention that you give, almost certainly guarantees she will be your lifelong, best friend. There may be times she thinks you are evil...(another sign that you are a good mother)
    Be careful what you wish for... these little girls become grown women and call everyday and want to go shopping and they borrow all your party platters and glasses and tablecloths. They actually ask for your advice and cooking tips..etc.. it never ends ( It's wonderful) You sound like the kind of mom that will have all her kittens run home...

    ReplyDelete
  6. Oh Kathleen, I can't wait (yes I can!) for that part of life. Right now I treasure every moment with my babies. I know it is fleeting.

    It sounds as though you did right by your babies as you have a great grown up relationship with them now. That must make you feel good. I knew you were good people! And that Waterboy of yours? I've been reading his blog and dang if I wasn't married I'd snatch him up. A great writer, literate, smart and loves to be out on the water. What more could you ask for?

    ReplyDelete
  7. Just beautiful...
    My daughter is eleven. I really hope Kathleen is right, and I suspect she is, because if my mother lived right down the road, I would borrow her platters and beg her to go shopping and teach me to paint and sew zippers... I know she would, because one day, if my beautiful, talented daughter called and wanted me to go shopping and sew zippers, I can't think of anything I'd rather do. Oh, I am crazy about my four sons, but my daughter... well, you know, she's my daughter. Thank you for putting it into words.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Go ahead....tell me the truth :)

Popular posts from this blog

A Poem to an Abusive Man

I've been doing a bit of research on abuse, domestic violence and how it usually ends. It's not pretty and it's painful and I hurt every time I read another woman's tale of horror.

Did you know that emotional abuse is as detrimental as physical abuse? And that most emotional abusers continue on to become physical abusers? I didn't. I do now. I found a site where formerly abused women, on the path to recovery from their abusers, have written poems. This one below is one that haunted me.

Thank You

You wooed me with poetry
I bit on the hook
Had I only first read
The name of the book

I would have avoided
The very first page
For pages kept turning
Revealing the rage

The ups were a great high
The ride was a bash
But I rode with my eyes closed
To avoid seeing the crash
I knew it would come soon
But I never knew when
The rage and the leaving
And the path to the end

You had to control things
Determined you would
Emotionally destroying me
Every way that you could

Elderly Abuse

I heard a loud thud the other morning around 3:30 a.m. I checked my monitor but he'd once again turned it to the wall so I was unable to see if he was still in bed. I went downstairs right behind my sweet husband and dad was on the living room floor moaning and holding his head. He'd fallen. Hard.


The first picture is the day of the fall. The second is the day after. The black eye keeps blossoming. He has a gash on his head, hidden by his silver hair and he skinned his shoulder/arm. He's a mess.

Was he using his walker? Nope. 85 year old toddlers cannot be told what to do. Or rather, they can be told what to do, they simply won't comply. Ever. In fact they get down right angry and throw fits. It's not pretty.

His physical therapist came to the house the next day and strongly told him to use his walker EACH TIME HE STOOD UP. Has he? Nope. Nyet. He was very angry with me yesterday because I kept asking him to use his walker. Also, I asked him i…

Back

BACK

Back on the horse
Monkey on his back
I see no light
Not even a crack
Back to delusions
Back to the lies
I see through his words
He can't hear my cries

Back into his soul
Back into his veins
The poison he pours
Dark liquid his chains

Backed into a corner
Heartbroken and torn
Back into the needle
The eye of the storm

Back to the wall
Soul bruised torn and broken
Back to my pain
His eyes half open

Back into the horror
Will he ever come back
Back into the nightmare
A needle in a sack

Back into his childhood
I loved him with fury
Looking back on his life
His choices my jury

How did this happen
Back to evil and sin
How can he do this
Lines on his skin

Back to my weeping
Back to my sorrow
My son, my love,
Has no more tomorrows
(all rights reserved)