Sunday, August 05, 2012

My child

I am the mother of a child, a timid child. A mother whose heart breaks over and over as her child wants to make friends, then grows reluctant and runs behind her legs. The mother of a small creature whose legs reach her knees and whose tiny hands grasp her index finger firmly, insistently, trustingly. Still I weep silently that my child is not beloved by everyone the way he deserves, and that others cannot imagine that he is perfect in every way. Most of all, I weep that even I forget that he is perfect as he is. I forget that he is himself, not me. I forget that the umbilical cord is cut, and that his body is his own, that his tears come from his eyes. I forget that his pain belongs to him. And while his tears are drying on his laughing face, my heart continues to ache.

That was me, but you must read this.

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