Her voice is scratchy, a forceful whisper as she says, “Mama, I don’t want you to go on a trip again. Ok? With Finley? Don’t go to the airport again. Stay here with me and Briar and Daddy and Finley. Always, ok?” Her dark hair tickles my skin, thick ringlets, lash-teasing bangs and sticky flyaways all conspire to engulf my face. Her cheeks are cool and her plump lips twist to and fro against my jaw as her hands clutch my neck and her body presses into mine.
There is no impetus, no declaration of an approaching trip, no reaching for keys or packing of bags. These requests come unbidden and with them memories of my own childhood, “Mom, promise me you won’t die. Ok? I just, I know that you aren’t, but don’t. I don’t want you to die.” I can remember so clearly how in the brightest moments, the happiest of times, the fear of losing her would clutch me, leaving me desperate to say something for fear that my silence would invite a loss.
I don’t believe Avery has that same panic, in fact I think she is playing me to some extent, but every so often there is a catch in her voice and I know. I wrap her in my arms and murmur in her ear, as much for her as for myself, “I won’t, baby. I won’t go on any more trips until we go somewhere together,” and then we rock, holding one another and letting our worries slip away.
As the minutes pass and as new days dawn I find myself, along with the swirling wisps of little girl within, clinging to the words a gypsy spoke in a whisper,Ā
with that little face begging you?
of course you will live a long time, with many sweet daughters
A gypsy?
Your girls are beyond blessed to have you as their momma.
Such sweet words and such a beautiful post.
Oh this makes me want to cry… š
(and I don't think it's all from post partum hormones!)
Lovely
I think the gypsy is spot on. š
Oh yes, I remember that feeling. You're a good mama to open up to that again.
I still worry about stuff like that…with my own momma, for my kids with me, my husband. If only loss wasn't so inevitable.
I remember when no one wanted me to leave on a trip. And everyone RAN to hug me when I got home.
Then, Mr. Hot was sad when I left, and RAN to hug me when I got home.
Now…The dog wags his tail when I get home. š
you never fail to humble me.
I've only ever met gypsies in France, where I couldn't understand what they were saying. I wonder what fortunes I could've missed?
Perfect pacing in this post.
I like that gypsy.
her words melt me. what love, huh?
you make her feel safe, that's what that says to me. nothing better.
There is so much love in your family. So many blessings.
So beautiful. As usual.
This is such a great post. I still, as an adult, have the same fear of losing my mom. The thought of it makes me feel like a little girl again, and probably even worse since I now realize exactly how much my mom is a part of my life and how much I still need her. Now that I am also a mother, I feel an aching pain at the thought of something happening to my little girl and, on the flip side, of something happening to me and I am not here for her like my mom was for me. It sounds so morbid, and there is no rational reason to think anything bad is happening to anyone close to me, yet it's never too far from my thoughts. It is very, very scary, and I wish I could turn off that little part of my brain.
OK, so I wrote the above comment yesterday about 'nothing bad' happening….I came home from work to find out that Maya had rolled off the couch on to the wood floor. THANKFULLY!!! SHE IS OKAY, but I felt like I was going to vomit while on hold with the Dr. office.
so sweet. I have been bad about reading blogs lately, but happy I popped over to catch up on yours. sweet, sweet girls you have there!