A sleepy good morning, a
sloppy kiss, a couple of reminders to turn the shower off. Finding a sock,
packing a box and coaxing to have one more bite of the toast. The diurnal
charades of filling lunches and matching hairbands with the Tees have lost
their charm in their eternal continuity. What I really want is a steaming hot
cup of tea and a place by the window to soak in the delights. There used to be
days when all this was fun, the frantic mornings; not anymore.
The backpack is ready, shoelaces
are tied, not a short time has passed since the alarm was turned off, yet the
steaming cup of tea, still eludes me. Not that I am particularly fond of all
the other chores, what I absolutely detest these days is the dropping off part.
Hardly a two minute walk from the home to the school, but I am ready to give it
up for a moment to be alone.
“Mommy, it’s time to go”
she pulls my hand and leads me to the door. Without a word I fall in step, a
rhythm that has been hard to break. Her hand no longer that of a small child,
unconsciously looks for and grips mine. A fierce hug and half a goodbye, always
a glance back as she rushes through the school doors. She has grown taller, a
year older and wiser too. I yearn to catch my breath, before the sibling stands
in tow, expecting her to walk on her own, just like a bunch of classmates.
Instead I see a little girl, stubbornly refusing to grow up.
One such morning, we walk
hand in hand. Half a year has passed and an alteration takes place. She races
through the doors without a reverse scan. With a sharp pain I realized she was
ready to leave me behind.
Today, as I see it now,
is not the same as that day. Mornings are still chaotic but I am glad to hear
the shout that tells me it was time to step out. The soft hand that pulls me
along, sways side by side, playful and earnest, without a hesitating halt. And
every moment is precious because its end is so near.
She takes a stride, a bit
too long, making the walk even shorter by long. She hugs me swiftly, an eye
already someplace else, and all I see is my little girl, growing up way too
fast. I wish I could hold on, just one second more, or re-live those million
moments starting the day we brought her home. But call it a miracle or call it
a curse, what is done for once, cannot be un-done.
