A moment of silence for sleeping in.
A moment of silence for my once perfectly symmetrical breasts.
A moment of silence for the noise, the banging, the shuffling, the breaking of glass, the whining, the cry in the middle of the night.
A moment of silence for the weight of his small body lying on mine, the soft skin of his belly brushing up against my arm.
A moment of silence for staying up too late.
A moment of silence for every moment I wish for my old life back.
A moment of silence for the gasp as I see him fall, the slow motion of his head hitting the ground, the rush over to him, his arms clinging around my neck. A moment of silence for his sobs into my shoulder. The check for blood.
A moment of silence for the way he shouts "Mama!" when he hears me walking through the door.
A moment of silence for my career. For the lack of acknowledgement, the lack of care, the lack of space.
A moment of silence for my marriage, for what it used to be, for learning how to reinvent it.
A moment of silence for travel.
A moment of silence for his cuddling noise, "Bbbbbbb", as he nuzzles his head into my arm.
A moment of silence for my vocabulary.
A moment of silence for the ceaseless chatter as I crouch next to him on the potty, fruitlessly.
A moment of silence for the hours of work planning the birthday party he will not remember.
A moment of silence for being his favourite person in the world.
A moment of silence for the endless, fleeting, days. For the hours I try to fill.
A moment of silence for the way he shoves his hand up my sleeve when we cuddle.
A moment of silence for the weeping when I think about him leaving one day. For the fear of not knowing where he'll be or if he's safe.
A moment of silence for the hours we spend looking at photos of him after he's fallen asleep.
A moment of silence for his perfect bedhead.
A moment of silence for not knowing what to do.
A moment of silence.
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| Photo by Sharalee Prang |
