Thursday, February 6, 2014
Holding my daughter is the chill from a smooth brass heart that warms in my hands, or it's the soft bear heavy with the weight of her urn. Either way is a cool and still embrace. I am thankful to have something to hold and to know where Alaska's ashes are, but I would rather hold her squirming little body. I would rather have her sweaty cheek pressed to my skin and smell her sweetness. What I have of her saves me. It's just enough to hold (better than empty arms and better than never knowing her), but I would rather be covered in her drool and her spit up. I would rather listen to her snore and squeak. I would rather pat her back and shush her cries. Holding Alaska is holding silence where there should be life.