Another piece of me I would like to bring back home . . . this post first appeared over on A Day in the Life of a Surferwife back in February of this year.
Down to two words
I wake with a headache.
I herd the girls through breakfast and morning rituals, and then I sink into the couch. I lie down. I cradle my head in my arm and shut my eyes against the light. I listen to the girls fuss with each other over water bottles and backpacks, but I do not intervene.
A shadow further darkens the gray behind my eyelids, “Mom?”
I do not open my eyes, “Yes, Kallan?”
“Can I lay with you?”
Eyes still closed, I reach up an arm and she lowers herself and fits herself into me. She melts into the spaces, fills the gaps. She does a little wiggle backward into me and exhales happily.
Kallan apart is high voltage magic. She is constant motion and energy and enthusiasm. She is filled with sparkly mischief and humor. She is long and lean and whirling throughout the space of our house . . . filling rooms with her being.
Kallan on the couch snuggled up with me is different . . . this Kallan is with me and she is me.
We are one.
I press my face into her back, feeling the sharp edge of her shoulder blade with my cheek. My breath is caught at the tautness of the skin that covers the bones of this child who is my daughter. I tuck my nose into the nape of her neck and breathe deeply of the powdered sugar sweetness that lingers and mixes with the tang of recent sleep. Her silky hair falls against my face and sweeps over my still-closed eyelids.
I wrap my arms around her and I pull her close. She sighs happily and relaxes into my greedy embrace. My mind is filled with memories of all the times I have ever held this girl and all the times I have ever had to let her go. So many memories of holding and releasing. I want them all.
I try to hold them all in my mind.
But the nature of a flood is that it cannot be held and examined, droplet by droplet.
Memory is a tricky thing.
When I was in law school, there was so much to remember for exams. It was overwhelming. And then I had a professor who explained it this way:
First you study the material.
Then you make an outline. Study it.
Then you make a shorter outline of that outline. Study it.
Then you make a shorter outline. Study it.
And continue until the entire semester’s work is reduced to a few trigger words, perhaps just two or three.
Each of these trigger words will bring forth the wealth of information and knowledge and connections that you have made in your mind through your studying. If you have prepared correctly, you will only need those ten words to be absolutely memorized. When the time comes for the final exam, the trick will not be remembering the information, but controlling the flood of information so that you can focus on gathering your thoughts and crafting your responses.
A few triggers are all that are required.
The rest will spring from there.
I hold Kallan. I focus.
The sharpness of her bones beneath taut skin.
The tangy sugared sweetness of her scent.
The sweep of her hair against my eyelids and cheek.
Triggers . . . each bringing up a wealth of information and knowledge and connections I have made in my time with this girl.
A million threaded memories of embraces and releases. Of holding tight and letting go.
Embrace.
And let go.
Embrace.
And let go.
I hope I am prepared when that time comes.
That final exam . . . whatever form it takes.
I hope I am prepared.
I press my face into her neck and breathe deeply. Tuck my cheek against her bones. Brush the hair from her cheek with my fingertips.
Embrace.
Kallan rolls herself away from me and bounces to her feet, “The bus will be here in a minute.”
And let go.
I walk with both girls to the front door. Maj heads out first, and I help Kallan with her backpack. She walks a few steps and then turns.
Walks back to me, arms outstretched.
Embrace.
Hair, skin, warmth, scent, strength.
And let go.
I hope I am prepared.
Let go.
