By Larissa Dann
I trail my daughter at the beach and dip a cautious toe into the receding water. I look ahead and, suddenly, I notice my seventeen-year-old. I ache as she jumps a wave, or chats to her dogs, her posture carefree, then intent.
She is racing to adulthood, and I am barely keeping up.
I look back in time, and there she is, three months old. Her silken-soft head is cradled in the crook of my arm, one blue-lined dark pupil glued intently on mine, as she fills her belly from my breast. Her eye crinkles upwards, and the edge of her mouth curves to a heart-stopping, pink-gummed grin.
Am I mindful of this moment, that will disappear with the next breath?
Her eye crinkles upwards, and the edge of her mouth curves to a heart-stopping, pink-gummed grin.
I take a step.
Now she is stamping her foot, her bright eyes blazing, curls swinging in a defiant arc, “NO!”. In an instant she changes, and her squishy arms encircle my knees and tug on my skirt. I look down to a pleading, upturned face, and hoist her to my hips. Her head snuggles into the curve of my neck, where she mumbles her sadness, her little-girl fragrance embedding into my memory.
Am I listening to her world? Am I mindful of this moment, that will disappear with the next breath?
I take a step.
Now my adult hand entwines with her kindergarten fingers as I walk her to school. Enthusiastically, she discusses her adventures with teachers and friends, her voice serious, then tinkling with chuckles.
Am I listening to her world? Am I mindful of this moment that will disappear with the next breath?
Now my adult hand entwines with her kindergarten fingers as I walk her to school.
I take a step.
My new teen comes searching, and sits on my lap, long legs resting on the floor. Her head finds its place on my neck, her arms around my shoulders, and she speaks. About pain, about inequity, about fear.
Am I listening to her world? Am I mindful of this moment, that will disappear with the next breath?
I take a step.
She comes home from her dance performance, her eyes sparkling, eager to share in minute detail her experience with me.
Am I listening to her world? Am I mindful of this moment, that will disappear with the next breath?
