Gathering the Fragments

She called out this morning - MOMMY!...

(I thought we'd gotten her to stop that)

but she yelled it out again, bellowing - MOMMY!...

MOMMY!...

Part of me wishes that she would just get up and come give me a morning hug,

a bright and peaceful greeting to start the day.
Or I wish I could hear her stirring, come in before the yelling starts;

all cozy & good.

Used to do that, before school days and older ways took over.

But that is not what she wants, and I know it.

Now and again she insists on shouting out her need.

Making sure I hear.

I go to her, snuggle in.

She smiles and the light breaks. Breaks my heart open with tenderest entry.

She is delighted to see me, to feel me warm beside her. She laughs her good morning.

Throws her arms around my neck!

We speak of balloons and how she could gently rise out of bed -

she laughs at the image that brings -

balloons tied to her elbows and wrists, to her ears and feet;

no, that won't do. Too tied up.

"You could just lay on it, one big balloon, and up you'll go.

Don't roll over or you'll fall off."

"I have a better idea," she says to me,

"MOMMY, Lift me up"

and I do, a tangle of gangly arms and legs surround me,

her face nestled in my neck, smelling of shampoo (no more tears)

and warm bed linens.

My hands held tight become a seat on which she is perched.

We walk out into the house, new light just entering

and catch a glimpse of ourselves in the mirror.

"We make a funny person" she says, "All wrapped into one"

Yes, we do...a beautiful, funny person.

Tight squeezes and I love you's follow.

My step is as light as any balloon, floating into the kitchen to start the day.