Ancient Love

“Gra’Moose, could you tell me another story that you know?”

“Could you sing me another song... what OTHER songs do you know, Gra'Moose?”

It’s 9:30. Mama says Miss D generally gets to sleep by nine. Maybe it’s the chocolate Paleo brownie with nut milk whipped cream which mama prepared for all of us to enjoy for my 'early birthday' before going off to her book club. Maybe it’s missing mama. My three year old granddaughter shows no signs of winding down. We've already talked about Wynken and Blynken and Nod, which my Grammy used to sing to me. 

She asks, "Did your Grammy die after Bubelah?" 

"No, I say, "She died a long time before Bubelah died and she lived to be almost a hundred years old!"

"Rip Van WinkIe fell asleep and slept for a hundred years," she confides earnestly. "Could you tell me that story, Ga'Moose?"

"I don't know that story very well, D." 

"He fell asleep and he grew a really really long beard." She crinkles her nose and lifts her upper lip revealing perfect pearls.

I memorize the moment, etching her astonishing beauty on my retina.

I haven’t really run out of songs and stories, but we've read two, quietly looked at four more library books, made up three tales- one each of  girl, a princess and a butterfly and sung countless songs. She's told me one story - incorporating many details of the ones I told her and the purple flowers from Lilly's Big Day - the first book we read tonight. Also, I’m exhausted from the weekend at a Pediatric Brain Tumor camp and have set the task of blogging tonight and, much as I would LOVE to stay up all night talking and sharing songs and swapping stories with her, I know she has school tomorrow morning.

I resort to Ujjayi breathing, suggesting we make the sound of the wind together.

Eventually, Miss D does close her eyes and begins breathing deeply and evenly.

Watching her pat the purple downy-soft fur of the gorilla she’s hugging to her chest in a self-soothing ritual, and seeing her touch her own silken fingers so close to my nose, as she settles in - finally - for sleep, is utterly fascinating to me. How could I be so lucky as to share in this miracle of listening to her soft breathing, feeling the rhythmic kneading of her toes against my shin, and smelling the fragrance of warm dreams rising in her head? 

I must’ve stepped in the biggest pile of dog poop in another life to deserve so much delight this time around.

Great Spirit... I thank ye and ask ye to keep her safe from big ugly nasties and things that go bump in the night.