Archive for July, 2012


Missing You

I miss your face, your voice, your laughter. I miss the me in you. Every night when bedtime arrives, I put my knee pillow between my legs, get into a fetal position, give old Button ear cuddles and tummy pats, then perform my memory ritual.

I crawl into your hospital bed, put my cheek to yours, comb your hair with my fingers and tell you: you are my precious baby girl and I love you with all my heart and soul. This is the scenario when I held you the day before you died.

I miss your voice, your laughter, your wonderful sense of humor. I miss your face. I’d do anything, absolutely anything, if I could be with you again. Oh, Mimi.

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If you haven’t read this book, you must. I read it ten years ago and am reading it again. Kingsolver’s insight in the human condition and motherhood is astounding. “A mother’s body remembers her babies–the folds of soft flesh, the softly furred cap against her nose. Each child has its own entreaties to body and soul, but it’s the last one though, that overtakes you.”

This mother, Orleanna, has lost her youngest to a green mamba snake. “…But the last one: the baby who trails her scent like a flag of surrender through your life when there will be no more coming after–oh, that’s love by a different name. …instead you rock by the window, drinking the light from her skin, breathing her exhaled dreams.” If you have been reading my  blog, you know I’ve lost my baby girl and so I can relate to this wonderful impassioned story.

Barbara Kingsolver is an amazing author and one you should get to know.

Excerpt from The Photograph

Claire grabbed the largest suitcase from the trunk of her mother’s car; her mother pulled out the smaller one. “Can you handle that?” Louise Thompson looked around the parking area as if a bellhop would appear. The lot was empty of life. She closed the trunk and smashed the button on her key fob twice to make sure the Lincoln was indeed locked.
Claire’s face beamed with excitement. Her grin was wide, her eyes taking in the panorama of campus, of grounds, of ivy covered walls that her imagination made up for the lack of. This was the Keene, New Hampshire University Campus—a host of buildings placed here and there in an asundry of directions—a chaotic bloom of academic pursuit. A warm breeze kissed her cheeks, and above it all, a horizon of cloudless, blue sky. A week late because of her father’s medical emergency, the school kindly allowed her to begin her freshman year. She would have no problem making up the week, the Dean had told them. After all, she was attending on an academic scholarship having skipped her senior high school year altogether. Advanced Placement exams in her junior year, and high scores in CLEP exams taken last spring had won her the scholarship and early attendance. Claire wouldn’t turn seventeen until October.