Tuesday, February 24, 2015
The lay-z-boy recliner was an orange rough fabric that my father loved. It was his chair and we loved it because he did. In all honesty it was a terribly ugly chair yet it held the love of our family for years.
I hold this memory like the recliner held us. Tenderly. With Love.
As a small child I climbed up onto my daddy's lap as he sat in the recliner and laid my head on his chest. I remember how my head rose and fell to the rhythm of his breathing. I fell asleep or at least dozed off. I remember waking hoping that he wouldn't make me move. I didn't want the moment to end. Imagine. A small child wishing to hold onto time.
The soft touch between my temple and his rhythmic breathing comes to me often and has for years, long before he passed. It was especially close to my heart last week as I held my dear baby Em on my chest. She was home with her first ear infection and her usual energetic nature had succumbed to fatigue. She had cried and hollered until finally her head hit my chest with a crash and as if a switch had been flipped she fell asleep. Her head pressing against my chest. I watched as it rose and fell with the rhythm of my breath. This time I felt the weight of her on me like my dad felt all those years ago. I felt her tummy press ever so gently into mine as her breathing slowed with sleep.
Will she remember this moment? Will I? Maybe not in our minds but it is etched into our hearts. The rise and fall of our breath together is us. Part of our connection as mama and babe. When my girls have grown and are following their dreams I'll call up these feelings of love and peace from my heart to fill my mind and soul.