She held out her arms and felt the heft as the baby was placed in them. Everything was a blur and she was sure that she was crying but the only thing she was conscious of were the tiny features on her daughter’s face, the redness and the wideness of her mouth and her cries as they emit into the room, and an overwhelming wave of love.
She was warm, and she smelled like cinnamon and there was flour on her fingers. Laundry was folded up around her. It was warm in the kitchen, in this between-place that did not quite make sense, but there she was, so it was all okay. It was enough, even if this was nothing.
Hollis Thundercroft
love
kindness
trust
provider
guide
friend
mentor
stable
rock
confidence
faith
Rhonda Nudell
Mother, I have been expecting you. I think it is time for us to talk about my future here in Artesia? I have spent all my life in this hut and I want to see the rest of the world. I will bring with me the wonderful companion that I have been gifted and we will safe as we traverse the world.
Seth Kaillen
She is all I had.
I was nothing without here.
She smiled. She was so warm.
This place was so warm.
But what do I do without her?
How will I survive without her?
I guess I can.
…
Yeah, I’ll just order fried rice.
mononoke
she held the child carefully. fragile, she was. the daughter, yes, and the mother. she was careful, so careful, not to let any harm come to her baby. she cherished the little one, like any mother should. she didn’t even realize the girl in her arms was of porcelain.
Her hands are tired and sighing and melting and floating and fading and red and worn and glowing and warm and creased and torn and as the sun rises within her, all floating and red and glowing and warm, she is reborn.
My mother has shown me the incredible talent of caring for others with no limits. She manages to anticipate the needs of myself and the rest of our family before we can.
AJ Denhoff
I waited for my mother for months in the rain and when she arrived she showed up with her usual baggage – some designer things she had bought years ago in the city – they looked ragged and worn, but she sat them down just as delicately as the day she bought them.
When Rhylean’s mother died, it was Guinevere who held her as she cried. It was Guinevere who broke every single rule she could to comfort her friend. And it was Guinevere whose black mourning dress was ruined by the snowy weather at the funeral.
How many times do I have to ask the same question until you remember the answer? If the names all sound the same in the end, why give us those monikers and expect them to remain memorized? I’m standing over your bed, Mother, and I see how your eyes have glazed over. They’re coated with the sugar grains of past moments that I can’t even stomach anymore. We used to sit together on your porch, while you held back screams as the neighbors burned all of their belongings in front of you. You hated the smell of the smoke.
Belinda Roddie
I wished she had stayed longer. I never get to talk to her. She wanders in and then wanders out, like a ghost of a dream. All those things I wanted to say to her are still jelling in my mind. After all these years it is difficult to remember that cancer took her away and she can never come back.
She held out her arms and felt the heft as the baby was placed in them. Everything was a blur and she was sure that she was crying but the only thing she was conscious of were the tiny features on her daughter’s face, the redness and the wideness of her mouth and her cries as they emit into the room, and an overwhelming wave of love.
She was warm, and she smelled like cinnamon and there was flour on her fingers. Laundry was folded up around her. It was warm in the kitchen, in this between-place that did not quite make sense, but there she was, so it was all okay. It was enough, even if this was nothing.
love
kindness
trust
provider
guide
friend
mentor
stable
rock
confidence
faith
Mother, I have been expecting you. I think it is time for us to talk about my future here in Artesia? I have spent all my life in this hut and I want to see the rest of the world. I will bring with me the wonderful companion that I have been gifted and we will safe as we traverse the world.
She is all I had.
I was nothing without here.
She smiled. She was so warm.
This place was so warm.
But what do I do without her?
How will I survive without her?
I guess I can.
…
Yeah, I’ll just order fried rice.
she held the child carefully. fragile, she was. the daughter, yes, and the mother. she was careful, so careful, not to let any harm come to her baby. she cherished the little one, like any mother should. she didn’t even realize the girl in her arms was of porcelain.
Her hands are tired and sighing and melting and floating and fading and red and worn and glowing and warm and creased and torn and as the sun rises within her, all floating and red and glowing and warm, she is reborn.
My mother has shown me the incredible talent of caring for others with no limits. She manages to anticipate the needs of myself and the rest of our family before we can.
I waited for my mother for months in the rain and when she arrived she showed up with her usual baggage – some designer things she had bought years ago in the city – they looked ragged and worn, but she sat them down just as delicately as the day she bought them.
When Rhylean’s mother died, it was Guinevere who held her as she cried. It was Guinevere who broke every single rule she could to comfort her friend. And it was Guinevere whose black mourning dress was ruined by the snowy weather at the funeral.
How many times do I have to ask the same question until you remember the answer? If the names all sound the same in the end, why give us those monikers and expect them to remain memorized? I’m standing over your bed, Mother, and I see how your eyes have glazed over. They’re coated with the sugar grains of past moments that I can’t even stomach anymore. We used to sit together on your porch, while you held back screams as the neighbors burned all of their belongings in front of you. You hated the smell of the smoke.
I wished she had stayed longer. I never get to talk to her. She wanders in and then wanders out, like a ghost of a dream. All those things I wanted to say to her are still jelling in my mind. After all these years it is difficult to remember that cancer took her away and she can never come back.