My daughter is well today.
Healthy. Rested. Whole.
The way God made her.
It’s just that last night… Last night when she screeched words that were not words and flailed arms at things that were not there, and clawed at clothing she was not wearing…things seemed differently.
We nursed the fever…she and I.
And for six hours she sipped water through a straw, or sat upright and shouted weird words, or patted me to see if I was still close.
And I was… huddled in a left over baby blanket and part of a purple pillow. The bags beneath my eyes already packed for grandma’s house.
At five-fifteen, I slid from her bed. All seemed fine. I smoothed her hair with one hand and pushed a clump over her shoulder. And then I stepped away.
Only she reached for me.
“Thank you, mommy,” she whispered. “Thank you for being my mommy.”
And I realized…
I realized with my eyes crusted closed and my body as fresh as a junk yard car, I would do it all again.
And again. Because…
I am her mommy–the only one she has…
And she needs me.