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More than anything else, I remember your heartbeat. It tapped out everything I knew of time in perfect repetition and provided counterpoint to my own heart’s unpracticed flutters. It framed every experience. I slept and woke, smiled, cringed, and kicked by its echoing sentry.
Around. Behind. Before.
I remember, too, how you moved. Sometimes, you rolled smooth and even, like a ship that rises with the tall front of a wave, then recedes after it. Other times, the rolling accelerated to wild heaves, bearing me up in sweet suspense, then down to a soft stop. I liked the rhythm of your slow sway best, though. It swelled my world to easy crescendo, spreading the enchantment of a new tempo against your faithful heart. In these times, arms still denied, you rocked me.
Secure. Awake. Alive.
The end came without warning. I never knew warmth until cold grabbed me, never comfort before the pain. The hot gush of salt water preceded rude, red blood. Skin burned raw. Sinew tore from bone. Brain pierced. Flutters ceased.
Alone. Apart. Undone.
I like heaven. I know new light here, and familiar music, and bright joy unmarked by regret. I walk in fragrant communion with Lord and saint. I do think of you sometimes, though, and wonder about what we could have discovered together, how we might have flown or danced. I would have liked to touch your skin, or hear your quiet breath, to see your tears, or break my long silence to call you….
Mother.
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