We sit across the room from each other while the t.v. blares, but neither of us is giving our full attention to the Cake Boss. She plays a game on her ipod and I knit, and though we are not having a conversation or working on something together, we are.
Together.
When she retreats to her room for jammies, I don't really expect her to return, but for a goodnight kiss. I can feel my face smiling as she snuggles back down into the deep of the couch and returns to her game. I think I might lose her when I retreat for my own jammies, but there she remains. She even giggles when I call us the
Jammie Girls.
We sit together, but not. Most nights she would be curled up for sleep by now... or on the verge of it, wrapped up in the pages of a far-off adventure. But one reason or another, the rambling on of the Cake Boss or the comfort of the little couch, has kept her in the living parts of the house tonight. When our half-attentions connect and we both laugh at the same line, I smile.
Somewhere in the world of growing up, in the space between needing me and not, we find a little bit of friendship. And more and more, I see who she is, and who she will be, instead of the wide-eyed girl she was just yesterday. I realize that there is no ordinary day, no ordinary hour. Every breath we navigate is new and unusual... and perhaps laced with the fear of the unknown. So in this sitting together, but
not... I find the gift. I want to grasp it and hold it tight to my heart... for I know that in the blink of an eye, it will be time to let her fly.
: :
Thank you,
Emily, for this return to
Tuesdays Unwrapped.
When my heart was feeling stale, you pushed me to find a little bit of beauty... and I'm so glad not to have missed it.