Pieces

"On Monday I am waiting,
on Tuesday I am fading, 
on Wednesday I can't sleep...
and then the darkness is clear 
because you've come to rescue me."

A. Simpson

She hardly recognizes the woman in the mirror anymore. The woman she once knew – the one full of life who loved to travel and try new things… the one who turned heads, who was not afraid, who did what she wanted because she wanted. She is gone. Lost in crow's feet that sit on the edges of her eyes; lost in an expanded mid-line and streaks of gray that peek from dark strands she wears pulled back these days.


As she looks she feels the tiredness and the subtle aches, and the beginnings of an emptiness that threatens to fill any unfilled space. And she wonders about the dreams and hopes of that woman; wonders if her companion really knows her, and if she is forever lost amid the piles of unfolded laundry, sticky hands, and endless demands. And she worries that she might just slowly slip away until there is not one little piece left of her. And she questions if anyone will even notice.

Then she feels a tug at her side; a small hand reaching for hers. He tells her that when he stretches his body grows, and when he drinks too much water it makes his boogers come out. He talks about the dog, the frogs in the pond, and says he likes peanut butter. He tells her he has a secret and when she bends so that his mouth is close to her ear he whispers that she is "the most beautifulest mommy in the world."

And suddenly she realizes that maybe she hasn't lost herself after all. Maybe she has been looking in all the wrong spaces. And maybe the pieces are standing right in front of her.

She lifts him into her arms, but really he is lifting her.