There are no words

I have lost my words. I have tried to come here and say something, but the words are gone. I have tried to look for them in old photographs, in my daughter's laughter, in the aisles of grocery stores. I have looked for them at work, under my desk, and at home, in the china cabinet. I even played an old Kishore song, thinking they would tumble out in the notes of the sitar. I moved my daughter into the guest bedroom, fluffed up her pillows, arranged her books in neat rows on the nightstand. I gave her a warm bath, massaged her with lavender lotion, and we sat in her new room together, reading books. Then we cuddled in the bed until she fell asleep. I covered her with her Pooh blanket, turned the night light on, and turned the volume of the baby monitor up. I tossed and turned in my bed, thinking of the words I had lost and was awash with anxiety and grief. Giving up on my search for words, I padded into my daughter's room and fell asleep next to her. I woke up several times and gave her kisses, felt her warm forehead next to mine, breathed in the lavender scent, saw her content face. This happened on multiple nights. I gave up my half-hearted efforts to find my words and found comfort, instead, in my daughter. 

There are no words. I am too full of this world. It spills out of me when I try to examine the little matters that matter to me. It hinders me. It tells me there is no little matter that matters. Not really. Life matters. Children matter. But it seems a child of mine matters more... What a lark to have been born to me in this superior and free part of the world. Such good luck for this girl who has seen so little of life and yet is brimming with it. I don't know how to reconcile that in words. I don't know how to keep on reading "Little Monkey" every night when there are so many mothers who are trying to puzzle out this very phenomenon - how is the world still living when my baby is not? Children matter. Life matters. Children matter. Not just our own - every mother's child matters, each life is sacred. Is anyone listening? Because we sure as hell are watching. And it seems we have lost our words. 

Photo by Rebecca McCue

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