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Tracie Skarbo was motivated to write by her father, who was her biggest supporter. “He was always behind me, rallying me on with my writing. I would always see him with a book in hand. He gave me a great appreciation for the written word, and the power and responsibility that writers have to shape those who read their words. He also taught me to respect nature and to value the beauty within it; my reflections on my environment are just an extension of this.” Skarbo was raised on Vancouver Island and is working on her next two books.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Stolen Pillows


I lie beside him and look with longing at what lies beneath his head, I move closer wanting to share.  He has had a ‘night mirror’ as he calls them, and has come to seek shelter and warmth in my warm cocoon. 

His disheveled brown hair, rosy red cheeks, and pink lips remind me of a cherub;  although sometimes when he is awake he grows horns and stomps his feet, most often when he has been told he cannot have his way, or when a nap is needed.

I am careful not to disturb his Duplo dreams, while I breathe in his slumbered scent.  It reminds me of days past, when as a baby he shared my bed and I barely slept as I listened for a halting breath, which would signify a possible soul release.  Those days are past us now, and I wave at them with a smile.  Both he and my worries have grown, evolving as we mature and get to know each other.  I smile; it seems like eons ago I was taking a black and white photo of his ten tiny toes to send with his birth announcement.  Yet my mind knows it was only mere years. 

I snuggle up to him, the curve of his back to my breast, listening to soft snores.  I lie in the darkness knowing that all too soon these nights will come to an end.  Just like the hugs and holding hands in public will.  I wonder how much more time I will have before he doesn’t tell me anymore that one day he is going to marry me.  When I will stop being his best friend and become a foe to rebel against? 

Will I become a third party to his life and all he experiences?

I must remember to give him space when that time comes, so he will be able to stretch his wings.  I will remind him that I am here if need be, no matter what that need is.  I will watch him struggle, just like when he took his first steps, but I know he will prevail if only I trust and let him work through it.  I think that will be the hardest part for me, learning to let go, while still holding on backstage.  For right now I am going to enjoy every one of these moments when he comes in to share my bed, and robs me of my pillow.

4 comments:

  1. Very good writing. The title is brilliant, in that the reader doesn't tie it in with the content till the last line, very much like Tom T. Hall's "The Ballad Of Forty Dollars" -- NOTHING in the song suggests the title till the very end, "Trouble is the fellow owes me forty bucks."

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  2. Beautiful sensitive words born of a Mother's love
    mj

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  3. A very sweet, yet poignant story about something all moms experience. One day you wake up and your little baby's grown up!

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  4. @Bill, I like surprises like those! :)

    @Katley, I am experiencing various levels of this daily!

    @MJ Thanks so much!

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