growinghumans


Midsummer Night’s Dream
July 30, 2016, 1:14 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

It is the dead of summer. The Black-Eyed Susans that border my front yard have seemingly burnt up, leaving just dried black eyes where the ring of gold used to be.

I am standing in my forever empty house. My daughter has gone to have fun at her grandparent’s house as I pour myself a second glass of wine and stand in her dark doorway. I sip and lean into her room, careful to not step over the threshold. The room, it will be too small for her one day. Her bed is unmade, her stuffed animals, books, clothing strewn around carelessly. It is a mess, but I don’t feel any desire to turn on the light and tidy up. It is her mess, and I find it beautiful. Here, on the floor of her little bedroom, you can see her; she is sorting through her closet trying to decide which elaborate dress she will wear that day, she is picking out a book for bedtime, she is playing a board game sometimes instead of a story. Each stuffed animal is exactly where she thinks they need to be. The extra large stuffed elephant that she got for Christmas from a relative in Ireland has permanently taken the place of an ordinary pillow. What sort of whimsical child would choose to do such a thing? This small wisp of myself rides into her dreams every night, riding on top of her elephant.

I see where her crib once stood. The room seemed bigger, impossibly big, as I would sit in there late into the night, rocking her back and forth when she refused to sleep. I would sleep on the floor next to her sleeping body when I could finally convince her to sleep in her crib. She would only sleep for an hour, maybe two, at a time.

The love didn’t come easy for me. My mind fought against. My heart was wrapped in plastic wrap after she was pulled out of my body one late autumn night. It couldn’t breath. Everything was so hard at first. Everything seemed impossible at first.

In this room, I slowly fell in love with my daughter and it is in this room that I let the love for her consume in a way that no man could ever.

It is her room, her mess; but it is my heart.

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