It was a tiny moment. Dark brown eyes turned toward me, abandoning the picture book we held while her mother slept off a chemo haze.
“When I was a baby, I used to love my Mommy lots and lots” she said.
And because she was four, I knew this held no meaning of something left behind.
So I said, ‘Yes, you did. You loved her lots and lots.” And I waited.
Soft curls fell against my shoulder. “And now, now I love her best of all.”
And in that moment wonder was the only word I found.
Curiosity, amazement, awe. All its meanings held there, waiting expectantly.
And silence, silence held so very gently between us, the only true response.
Later, we would make cookies in the shape of stars.
Mary Plouffe is a previous contributor to MAW, a clinical psychologist and writer whose book on childhood grief, I Know It In My Heart, will be published in May 2017.
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December 20, 2016 at 12:27 am
Mary, this poem is amazing! So much story in so few lines…sublime. Thank you for writing it.
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