It's Friday again, which means it's time for Five Minute Friday over at Lisa Jo Baker's blog. I'm really enjoying this weekly exercise and I'm loving reading how differently (or not) we all respond to a single word. Head on over there to link up or check out what others have written.
This week's prompt: cherished.
Go.
In the deep dark of the night she cries for me and I peel my weary body from my bed. I change her and feed her and put her back down, praying that she'll sleep and I know that this is what my mama did for me. He comes home from work and I watch her eyes light up, her whole body wriggling with the effort of smiling big enough when he gets down on the floor to play with her.
I understand them so much more, now, the two who gave me life. I've taken their love, their presence for granted. Nearly thirty years and I'm finally realizing how much it takes to cherish.
Cherish: to protect and care for lovingly.
I found it in Moonlight Sonatas drifting through my cracked-open door when I was sick, in a cool hand stroking my head until I fell asleep. In Tuesday morning breakfasts, just the two of us at the diner, making up elaborate stories about the people who live in the house across the highway. In long summer days spent splashing in the waterfalls below the dam under her watchful eye and long evenings sprawled out on the living room floor while he read stories. In tearful phone calls from the next state and the next continent in which she talked me down off whatever ledge I was balancing on. In a thousand memories, far too many to fit into five minutes.
I'm starting to see now how cherishing another means giving up yourself, how someone else's happiness can really mean so much more than your own. I only hope Zoe will have as many moments to carry with her, that we'll have the strength to protect her and care for her the way we should.
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This week's prompt: cherished.
Go.
In the deep dark of the night she cries for me and I peel my weary body from my bed. I change her and feed her and put her back down, praying that she'll sleep and I know that this is what my mama did for me. He comes home from work and I watch her eyes light up, her whole body wriggling with the effort of smiling big enough when he gets down on the floor to play with her.
I understand them so much more, now, the two who gave me life. I've taken their love, their presence for granted. Nearly thirty years and I'm finally realizing how much it takes to cherish.
Cherish: to protect and care for lovingly.
I found it in Moonlight Sonatas drifting through my cracked-open door when I was sick, in a cool hand stroking my head until I fell asleep. In Tuesday morning breakfasts, just the two of us at the diner, making up elaborate stories about the people who live in the house across the highway. In long summer days spent splashing in the waterfalls below the dam under her watchful eye and long evenings sprawled out on the living room floor while he read stories. In tearful phone calls from the next state and the next continent in which she talked me down off whatever ledge I was balancing on. In a thousand memories, far too many to fit into five minutes.
I'm starting to see now how cherishing another means giving up yourself, how someone else's happiness can really mean so much more than your own. I only hope Zoe will have as many moments to carry with her, that we'll have the strength to protect her and care for her the way we should.
