I really miss my mom
I heard her say, as we lied there together.
Silence, among the white noise, and again “I really miss my mom”.
I put my hand out for her little fingers to hold.
And thought of all the other little babies, little souls, missing those that gave them life.
I think of my eight-year-old self, missing her daddy. The deep internal ache and loneliness that came when my mom traveled. As if I couldn’t bear to be without the one who gave me comfort.
And I think of all the ways caregivers provide love, provide coregulation, and comfort to those little people who grow into adults that provide that again for their little ones.
I held onto her little fingers, thinking of her heart, and wishing it to always be whole. And I waited there until her breath began to slow and her mind likely to dream.
And then I was there when she woke. Holding her, comforting her. Knowing one day she’d hold her own, and comfort their little heart.
