“Mama, I miss you,” 5 year old Nora says through the hollows of the phone, “Will you come here tomorrow?”
“Yes, Nora. I will be there tomorrow,” I say to my youngest child.
To miss someone can feel like a deep hole. A longing. A magnetism.
A longing that seemingly cannot be answered without seeing, holding, touching the one whom we miss.
Or even a time for which we yearn.
Gone. Past. Dissolved with the sunset of yesterdays.
That ache in the chest and lump in the throat of
revealing the softest spots of our being.
The raw heart.
Open and revealed for all to see.
Close your eyes. Let yourself touch that which stops you
Deep, sinking footprints tattooing fresh snow.