I am five and a "flower girl."
In the nativity play.
(It must be one of the roles they give out when the real parts are gone quipped someone recently.
It's probably true.)
I have a new dress with flowers on it. I have flowers in my hair. I am so excited.
My mother wants to know if she can help me rehearse "my steps." She means my choreography/step-by-step moves on stage.
I have no idea what she means.
(I have nothing to do in the play. I merely stand in a line with the other bit players and throw a flower or two out of my basket.)
It becomes a small "thing."
Do you know your steps? she keeps asking.
I have no idea how to respond.
I have a brainwave and tell her that I can't say them but I can draw it for her.
She's confused. But ok.
We find some paper and crayons.
I proudly draw her a series of descending interconnected "Ls" to make a picture of stairs... they begin and end in emptiness.
*
At is nearly five. This child is my life.
It is summer, my favorite time of the year.
At is an easy, happy child. We've spent hours cuddled up, painting, reading, exploring in the community garden...
In this moment, At's health status terrifies me. "Failure to Thrive" a medical resident said with a smile once. (I know they were smiling because they'd solved the mystery diagnosis and not because my child might not live, still...) "Failure to Thrive" makes mealtimes and food intake strenuous and stressful.
It is summer, my favorite time of the year.
It is summer and At has no school.
I am in grad school. I am newly widowed. I have spent the day parenting alone.
I owe my advisor a dissertation chapter, I owe a colleague a book review, I owe the IRS what seems a lot of money.
It's finally 7 pm and I put At to bed. After reading and singing and talking (At has always LOVED to talk), it's 8 pm and I'm getting ready to slip out of At's tiny bed.
"Stay!" At says. Hopeful eyes, cheeky smile.
And I (will forever regret that I) said the tired thing in my head. "I have to go, Kanna... I need to make some space for me."
"Wait-wait!" the lonely child says--tiny, triumphant hands eagerly sweeping up books and stuffies to make room, "I'll make more space for you!"
____________________________
Pic: Rainbow-tunnel-carwash. Stuck there, it seemed both grim and hopeful at the same time. 
19 comments:
Oh, Maya. Oh, my heart. This was so beautiful and so poignant and such a window into your life. I'm in tears now, this was just...I can't even form words.
Beautiful and profound. Love and light to you.
Take care.
Oh... those years of parenting where you're so mentally exhausted... I know that feeling. And I also long for the days when I could cuddle my kids in bed! Why did I ever want them to end?
And... love the Steps story.
This is just lovely.
Oh goodness. I learned so much about you from this window into your life. I did not know you were widowed! Add on health concerns about a child and that is such a difficult situation.
It's so hard to know when to give into requests like the bedtime one and when to stand firm. I'm always cognizant that one yes can set a standard. But sometimes we have to be flexible. I bet At does not remember that time when you prioritized space for yourself, though.
I also didn't know you were widowed. Such a scary diagnosis, Failure to Thrive. Difficult memories of a difficult time. And wow, mommy guilt. Why do we feel guilty about needing a bit of time for ourselves? We want our kids to feel OK with taking a bit of time for themselves, to practice self-care. I guess I mean, be gentle with yourself.
Oh, how wonderful and so very, very relatable. I was not a widow, no, nor a true Single Mom; yet, this poem embraced my heart in so many ways. It speaks so fervently to emotions and concerns mothers everywhere have felt and have seen translated by their children--and the constant feelings of regret that we carry. A real tour de force here. XO
PS--The carwash! YAY! But I love the great symbolism of it with this poem even more. Terrific.
<3 <3 <3 Thank you XOXO
Thank you!
Will do!
Right? Why was I impatient? But Jenny--I guess we're all doing the best we can though, right?
Thank you, StephLove!
The "space" story is part of our family lore. and At has heard it before. I sent them this version, and they texted back "Love you!! I can't believe you were going through all that in grad school" so all is well :)
Thanks, Lovely J. I really don't think I was being selfish, but oh, every time I think of At misunderstanding "space" and "fixing" the problem, it makes me so sad. I mean, we had just moved and the child was very lonely that summer--we both were.
Thank you, thank you, Nance. I hesitated to call it a poem (and didn't categorize it as one), but it did feel like one in my head.
Nicole, I'm sorry my comment to you is so inadequate! I'm very moved and at a loss for words myself.
This is exquisite. And searingly intimate.
Thanks, Jeanie!
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