Mama, what do you believe in?
The question fires from the backseat as I steer our car down the hill to town.
I believe in love and kindness and honesty. I believe my perspective and approach creates the powerful current I get to swim with.
Over the railroad tracks. Right hand turn. A woman biking with tattooed legs. Friends sitting with coffee. I stop for a family to cross the street.
I believe in nurturing a strong connection to nature. I believe in good communication, trusting your gut and dinner together every day. I believe is all kinds of things.
We stop at a red light. A woman in heels hurries across the street while laughing into her phone. Cars drive. North, south, east, west. People are heading places.
In the rearview mirror Ruby sits, tucked into her pink carseat. Her fuzzy blond halo catches the morning sun, her hands crossed in her lap. She wears her current favorite uniform of capri leggings and a tight-fitting shirt. We are on our way to gymnastics.
What do you believe in? I ask.
Oh I don’t know. I’m just trying to figure it out is all.
Last week I came across a photo of Ruby. It is one of the only photos I took of her in the hospital. I was afraid to document anything that might be too painful to look at in the future should she die. It also felt wrong to take pictures of her so fucking helpless. Instead I sat and stared at her, willing my dark thoughts and increasing detachment to brighten, reattach.
On this day, at this moment, she seemed like a baby. She felt like my baby. Her eyes were wide and alert. She stared into me and I felt a volcano of strength and hope erupt into my heart. She stretched her legs like she’d done before RSV made her eyes close, made her body go limp and breathless. I took a picture.
I show it to my kids. Margot says wow! who is that?! Ruby studies the image on my computer screen with a troubled expression. I tell them it’s Ruby, when she was sick. And Ruby’s ocean eyes fill with tears. She jumps onto me and squeezes my neck and tells me that the picture makes her so sad. She says it’s weird but it’s like she can remember feeling that way.
It’s not weird at all, baby.
For the last few months, she wants me to hold her all the time. She wants to sleep with me, touching me. She wants to sit on me, eat on me. She wants me to trace her face. Again mama. She wants to hold my hand, sit on my hip while I cook, dig in the garden right where I stand. Watch this mama. Sometimes I get touched out. I want a break from the 43 pound primate dangling from my torso. I steady myself during those times of annoyance. Or, more likely, I steady myself after – with a little space from them. I step back and find my balance. I see my lifespan, important moments marked along a horizontal line. This is an important moment. This one where we both learn to loosen our grip on each other. Just a little bit. Just enough. And in order to loosen, we first tighten. We remember that feeling of wishing for hugs and face traces and hand holding. We remember being unable to touch for all those days. The fear and heaviness.
Tighten. Tighter.
Mama uppey!
I can feel her heart beat, her lungs full of air. She grips too hard around my neck and whispers into my hair
My mama. My mama.
The light turns green. I wait to see if she will expand on her thoughts about what she believes in. Mabel leans over her carseat from the back and pants, her pink tongue one inch from Ruby’s face. My daughter meets my eyes in the mirror and says
I think I know why some people only have cats and not dogs. I always want to have a dog but maybe some people like their homes to be, like, all peaceful and calm. Maybe some people just like a quiet home. And mama? You have two choices when I am done with gymnastics. You can either take the car through the giant car wash or buy me a baby turkey. You can surprise me.
At the gym she runs to her friends and coaches and turns to me. Watch this mama! She does a front flip off a high mat and lands, strong and smiling. She laughs. Bye mom! she shouts as she runs to the trampoline, not looking back.
Loosen. Looser.
I believe in feeling all the feelings. I believe in big dreams and small movements. I believe in seasons, skipping stones, skiing, strawberries, saying yes, swimming, sleep, sunrise, snuggling and swing dancing. I believe what you believe. I believe in you.
29 Comments
Wow! That was lovely and wonderful. Thank you.
Wow… This was just beautiful. Your writing always makes me pause and reflect. I know this is going to be a post that I keep coming back to x
Beautiful. Love the perspective. Sitting here rocking my 2 month old who won’t sleep thru one nap all day…remembering how blessed I am and realizing that maybe she just wants to be close to me. I’ll just keep rocking and kissing her.
Honest, glorious words.
My smaller small is about to start Kindergarten in the fall, and this summer he is fully embracing (ha!) the cling and run, up and down, small and big. He always wants to slip a finger in my belly button when he is confronted by a new social situation or a fierce disappointment, and sometimes I struggle to find the balance between what I know is a comforting gesture for him and frustration at feeling my 5.5 year old worming his hand up my shirt again, again, again. Oh motherhood, the constant push and pull of my loves, my growing small people, who are an intimate part of me, inside and out; and me hoping this fall to keep finding myself, outside and in.
I wasn’t ready for the picture of our little Ruby in the hospital so many years ago…it brought a fresh steams of tears…tears for then, remembering how sick she was; tears for now because of how grateful I am to have her in my life. I believe in you Burb and I love you very much!
Mom
i believe in this!
Tears, friend. All the varieties. It’s all so incredible, the dance.
Such beautiful words, they fit so well. Thank you.
So beautiful.
This brought me to tears. This was exactly what I needed to read to understand my 4 year old daughter’s sudden clingy behavior. Thank
You for sharing your words, and for the eloquence you share them with.
Love this so. I’ve had cause recently to rethink what I believe, starting only with “I believe in kindness”. The second or third belief to materialize for me is that there is not one good choice, but there exist a wide range of good choices for humankind . Your sweet girl figured that out 30+ years before I did with her thoughts on dog and cat people. Thank you for so beautifully capturing parenthood, living, life. Thank you, thank you.
Oh. This. I needed to read this tonight. Thank you. My daughter is being super-uber-clingy-needy right now and I keep on stepping back because I am all uber-clingy’ed out. Tomorrow I will think about life on that horizontal timeline you described and remember that this is an important moment and I will step in. I want to be one of those calm and peaceful homestead’s that your Ruby describes but we just added a rescue-puppy to our brood and he is all mischief and adventure and jumping headlong into protected wildlife ponds to scare the begeezus out of the birds. Perhaps in my next life I will be a cat person.
Oh, yes. This is so lovely, so true. xox
Yesterday was a complete and utter emotional breakdown for me in my professional life. Perfect timing to read this and re focus on what I believe in. Thank you.
Grandpa speaking – “Always let them cling to you no matter how inconvenient it seems at the time. Later, as you sit in your rocking chair, there will be a warm spot wherever their tiny hands touched you.
This is simply beautiful. My son had RSV too and we almost lost him at 4 months. He is still clingy and needier than my other kids even at 12 years old. It is exhausting. But I think, in dark places in his mind he remembers struggling. To breathe. To fight. To live. I figure if that little body can overcome, so can I.
Oh, do I understand this. Years of hospitals are in my smallest girl’s history, years of singing her to sleep in an operating room are in mine. She’s nine now, and wiser than me, and stronger. I can feel what you’re writing here. Thank you for sharing it.
Holy Crap! All the feelings indeed! You are an amazing writer, I can’t say enough, except please write more!
I know I say this sort of stuff around here a lot, but these posts feel like a spiritual gift. They leave me so fulfilled. Thank you for sharing!
Thank you for this post.
Your words and photos are breathtaking…everytime! I’m dying to know…car wash or turkey?!
You’ve done it again! So real and beautiful and helpful!
This touched a personal place in my heart….it’s the common thread of trauma arising in our girls seeking healing. I am living a similar experience with my 4 1/2 yr old Mazie who was super sick with severe allergies for the first 6 months of her life. I have pictures tucked away, that I can’t decide if I ever want her to see them for fear of what it may conjure up inside…..but the trauma resurfaces in its own now matter what…..the soul/body innately seeks healing and rebalancing. I am curious to hear more about how she gains confidence in loosening her grip with you as she grows and heals. This has inspired my ability to get us to a place where I even open up those photos for me to even look at and feel out when she’s ready or if she she even wants to see those pictures because as miss Ruby says…..it’s as if she remembers how that time feels in her body…..the body remembers everything, and there are some really great modalities to help support them in their healing process. Contact me if you are interested in hearing more about that 😉 thank you for sharing this…..
All great things to believe in. I love your words and I love reading your mom’s comments. xo
Chill, chills, chills. Wow! Such beautiful words. Thank you.
I loved this. I so relate to the NICU photo – I remember feeling the same way, that I didn’t want to remember him like that, but being too frightened to not remember him like that. Thank you for helping me remember, and inspiring me to jot down what I believe, too.
I always have a lump in my throat when I read your posts.
So beautifully written.
You capture the feeling I have with my 8 year old daughter at this very moment!
thanks-
I believe in you writing your book! Your words are lovely and deserve publication! Beautiful and eloquent as ever. Thank you xoxo.
i love this. this post reminds me of this danny schmidt song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=boqQxwiUT2A
one of my favorites, for sure.