in the middle of the night a tiny hand touches my hand. "mommy?" a small voice asks. I reach over the side of the bed and pull up a fluffy ball of arms and hair and elbows. she radiates warmth, even a little sheen of sweat. "lie down next to mommy," I whisper and she curls in tightly. we tangle arms and knock knees, come closer. her little rib cage is the definition of delicate.
I pull the blanket up to her neck so only her head is showing. her face moves so close that our noses almost touch. our eyes close together.
I can't pinpoint exactly when a portion of this life became fear and anxiety, worrying about the future, worrying about keeping them safe. of course the knowledge of possibility can haunt even the most level mind. playing out worst case scenarios becomes a kind of mental exercise you can't turn off.
but this, what I hold in my arms, is the most beautiful thing. she is completely secure, safe, content. she doesn't know that there are ways I won't be able to protect her. I know it so well.
in the dark, a hand brushes my cheek, checking. pure need--its essence--pure love.
For most of my life, I've managed to balance anxiety and total paranoia with my usual contented, optimistic outlook about the world. In exchange for the destruction of my idealism and total acceptance of cynicism about everything and everyone, I have maintained an unflagging sense of optimism and the ability to carry on even in the worst of circumstances. Having Pen is an extension of all this--I have those same worst-case fears and extrapolations, but I let myself think them and let them pass while reveling in her company. I can see that she is already anxious about some things in the world, and it's nice that a hug or kiss can dispel that worry, even if only temporarily.
ReplyDeleteI never used to think like this, though. maybe not as much to lose before? it breaks my heart to think of when they'll find out..
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