While in the Fog, Remember Who You Are

Today my sister sent me an email attaching a photograph I took years ago. It was a black and white close up shot of my father’s left hand. His middle finger is slightly shorter than it should be due to an accident with a router. I remember the day it happened. I found out about it while I was standing in the gymnasium at Mount Pleasant Middle School. He drove himself, and his bloody truncated finger bandaged in a rudimentary but effective way, to the hospital.

I am sitting here many years later, contemplating the passage of time and the fog of our lives. I am now a mother and my little girl will soon turn one. Now that I am a parent it seems time is of a different essence. It is much easier to stop myself wishing for the future because the now is so very precious. I can easily imagine my daughter turning 16 and I don’t want that. Not yet. I want to nibble her thighs and hold her as close as possible.

Meanwhile, I am struggling with keeping hold of me, finding my center, what made me ME before I had Sylvie. Seeing that my photograph is still precious to my sister helps me to remember. To cling. To also hold myself close.

Laura