Peaches

Your cheeks always reminded me of peaches. They were perfectly round and soft and sweet and life-colored when you smiled. I used to rub my cheeks on yours so mine would be as beautiful. As you carried me up those sentimental stairs, I whimpered because I didn't want to be banished to a room, far away from you. I wrapped my arms around your neck and pressed my dimples to yours. You stopped on the staircase and looked me in the eyes with tenderness. You told me I was precious. That helped me relent to the rest of the journey to your great, pine bed. My little body felt littler in the king-sized covers, but when you climbed into bed next to me, your arms were my comfort. 

The ritual of nap time endeared me to you. First, we would decide whether to sleep side to side, front to back, back to back, or front to front. I remember I thought I might hurt your feelings if I said, "back to back," because it meant we wouldn't be as close. Then, we would practice what "Goodnight Moon" taught  us, and say goodnight to every object in the room. "Goodnight window. Goodnight ceiling. Goodnight dresser. Goodnight pillow." We would say goodnight until there weren't anymore goodnights to be said. I always woke up from my nap to find you were no longer there, and that sent me into a moment of panic. Knowing you were just one floor away brought me relief.

It's all very poignant because the bones of that child you put down for naps are the same bones that live inside of me today. I still sit next to you on the second row and look at your peachy cheeks and hope I inherit your beauty. I still hold you as tight as I can because I know these are fleeting moments. You still tell me I'm precious. And now I'm crying because our "goodnights" are becoming goodbyes. "Goodbye window. Goodbye ceiling. Goodbye dresser. Goodbye pillow." Soon, I will turn over in my springy dorm room bed and you really won't be there and my panic will not be assuaged by the knowledge that you are just downstairs in your office.  

But here's to the electricity between our souls and the dancing in the family room. Here's to the yearning after knowledge and the badgers in the backyard. Here's to the divine talks and the giggling past curfew. Here's to the exploring and the accordion man that made our night so quintessential. And here's to the many more dimpley, peachy cheeks ahead, for after I pack all my t-shirts and journals and move to that springy dorm room bed, we still have eternity together; and we'll never run out of good mornings and hellos.

Happy Mother's Day, best friend.