A Different Religion

October 6, 2014

dawn silhouettes

I am one thousand smiles and one hundred happy handshakes but I am gone, gone, and my daughter wakes from her nap, looking for me.  She runs into a hug when I finally come home.

I was so angry when I woke up and you weren’t there.  I missed my mommy.  I was so sad.

Such tough words from a sweet little.  So much truth in them about the cusp of anger and sorrow, how it is a wall you balance on, a scale you tip.

Now, though, in my arms, she twists to look at me.  I love you.  I’m happy you’re here.

We make up and then cuddle under a fort of blankets.  She points to a spot on the underside of the comforter.  Look, it’s a star.

I touch it.

Gentle, Mommy.  It’s fragile.  We have to be careful.

Her eyelashes are as long as dreams.

My husband told me about a story he read recently, about how parenting is the new religion.  There is some weight to that argument, and I think of all the fever nights we have kept vigil, the silent thanks we murmur under every breath.  Here we are blessed with gentle fingers, absolved with fiercest hugs.

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