You've outgrown your socks again. I noticed them riding just above the bottom of your heel this morning.
The socks you wore new the first day of school. The socks thrust forward as you practice your front kick. The socks you stained like pitch when you "rescued" a snail from a mulch bed in a rainstorm and snuck out a few minutes later - forgetting your shoes - because you were worried there might be others out there that wouldn't survive the storm.
I love your socks.
I love them because they're yours. I love them because they touch you and hold you and shape to you.
I have your socks.
I wonder if your first mom wishes she did.
1 comment:
This made me cry. For a couple of reasons. First, grateful that someone gets it and is brave and gracious enough to acknowledge it. Wow!
Secondly, because it reminds me of everything that I have missed in my daughter's life. Her socks being such a small and every day thing - and yet, something that mothers who lost their children unwillingly never get to have. I recall looking at the clothes and things my next daughter had, washing them, hanging them out to dry and thinking about how I never got to do that for my firstborn. People talk about how we are not mothers because we didn't do those every day tasks for our lost children. No, we didn't. But not because we didn't want to but because we were robbed of the opportunity to do that. What causes pain is that someone did it in our stead. It doesn't take away from the person who did that. But the majority of us would have given anything to do that as well.
Socks. Something so small and seemingly insignificant but so, so large in this context.
Again, thank you xxx
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