Letting go. Holding tight.

I shuffle and drag my weary feet to the sink, rinse my plate in the cool water, let it drip and on an afterthought, leave it in the sink. I rest my hands on the ledge debating. I let it be. Drying my hands on the moist towel, I flick the kitchen lights off and stand for a moment taking in the picture. K is sitting cross-legged on the floor, the iPad playing the Nadal – Djokovic game. Kay and Cee perched one each on a lap cheering on cue and clapping when the stands erupt with joy.

I leave my memory foam slippers by the couch and gently ease myself into a semi curl. I close my eyes and feel the pain. The heel and the arch of the feet giving out pain in pulses. It take a minute for me to feel OK. I feel a cool touch to my cheek. Squinting my eyes open, I see Cee trying to lift herself up on to the couch so she can lie beside me. I feel a warmth spread through my being. My precious little girl snuggles up to me for a hug and a kiss. I watch as she adjusts her tiny frame to mine and content in the warmth of my body turns her attention to the screen on the floor again. I struggle.

Struggle between enveloping her in a bear hug and never letting go and just being. Leaving my arms loose around her allowing her to take the lead in expressing how much of mommy warmth she needed. It feels reminiscent of all relationships in my life. The more I want to have someone in a bear hug, they flail, they wiggle free and move away. The lighter I hold them, they come back. Sometimes for more.

Caught in the profoundness of the moment, I imagine waving the girls bye as they leave home knowing only they will make the decision to return. Not I. My thoughts are interrupted by another tiny body crawling on mine. It is Kay this time. She takes the place her sister just vacated. I leave my arms limp resisting my urge to hold her tight. Her little arm seeks out my arm one by one and places it across her tiny frame asking for a squeeze. I feel a rush of emotion and a couple of tears roll down my eyes. My heart feels heavy and light. A soundless song escapes in the form of a sigh.


Author. Parent.

One thought on “Letting go. Holding tight.

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