“already one day has detached itself from all the rest up ahead.
it has my photograph in its soft pocket.
it wants to carry my breath into the past in its bag of wind”
- charles wright
my dear littlest,
your mommy is heaviness and light. you seem to be getting the hang of it. living with me, being who you are with someone feeling your every breath, helping you take the deep ones, trying to let you go, remembering your hand in mine as i hold it. you make me feel all the shades of grey at once for the rainbow they are. you are all bended light. you are a story in which we feel suspended, where every second is everything, where we are love and skin and now.
i am grateful for the way you build a world and fall apart in a moment. our tangled souls are getting a workout. how you see your imagination roll like film on a projector, and nothing can reach you, the picture is that vivid. then in a blink, you are “a danger to self and society” as mommy says, and full on love is the only antidote, the only intervention. you are the roller coasters you speak of with longing. you are the little boy whose stomach can only handle the slightest swoop of the pendulum on a swing. you are gravity and the dream of flying. you are the gentle, close, humid warmth leaving my arm asleep with you every night, and the breeze left in your fleeing wake. you are the arc of love as it stretches across my heart, and you are the very heart beneath it.
taking care of you is my anchor. from there you are hooked into my skin. it is the point of light from which all else is born, strong enough to reach the surface. heavy, but as true as i know. carrying you, your head on my shoulder, your legs wrapped around my waist, is a weight that keeps me tethered here, and sets me free. it is the beautiful paradox that always made my head hurt. because i was so close to understanding, but it had not yet devoured me.
i know i must finish this, as you just came up to me, got between me and the screen, and kissed me with your perfect chapped lips and apple breath. and then my nose. and then each eye. just like i do to you. and there is the pulse of my world in one tiny gesture that is too big for this world. so here i will end, without the list of details i have been saving up for our memories. because you need me, and that makes me, me. you make me the crazy, patient, singing, spinning, pulling my hair out with pure joy mommy i am. you are my equal and opposite action, in miracle form.
and i love you like wildfire.
this is one link in a monthly project with some other wonderfully diverse and devoted mothers, writing to their precious kids. next is Tabitha Patrick