When Zoey fell down for the 18th time I scooped her up and held her tight, Her tears soaking my sleeve. Tenderly I stroked her hair with whispers of “I’m sorry” filling her ears. My presence is the needed bandage, and after a moment, she began to calm.
Does my mother see me each time I fall? Does she hold me to her and soothe my pain?
I crave the feeling of my head on her shoulder, with whispered “I’m sorry’s” filling my ears. And the knowledge that I can sit with her until I can smile and walk away, with the wetness of tears still on my face, stronger and surer than before I felt pain.
