Lost and Found

I had a dream last night that I lost Ella. I dropped her off somewhere and didn't check that the people were home. Hours went by and then I saw the people and they apologized for not being home. I began to panic as I realized what had happened and no one would listen to me. I was searching frantically and the only one who would help me was Sandi's dad. In the dream, Sandi was at work and I actually thought, she'll kill me when she finds out.

We went to a hospital and they said there was a little girl who was hiding under a table and had been for hours despite their coaxing. I ran to her, knowing it was Ella. My heart shattered into a thousand pieces when I saw her balled up, hiding under the table. It took her a beat to recognize me- she was a younger Ella, maybe just two. But when she did, she launched herself into my arms and the emotion that flooded through me is like none I have ever felt, ever. We sat there, locked together, for an eternity and I woke up sobbing.

I have been overwhelmed lately by the brevity of her young childhood. She is expressing such mature ideas and grasping truly global ideas. All day, after waking from that dream, I just want to soak in every single morsel of her. Today, in our beautiful spring weather, she rode her bike on our road for the first time with me and Maya in the stroller alongside her. She told me her bunny should really get outside and enjoy the beautiful day. She appreciated a bud on a tree in the park for the first time. She is going to preschool next year. She talks everyday about her family, all the members in it both immediate and extended, and how much she loves them and wants to see them. She wants to know if our cat misses her sister who died a year and a half ago.

Tonight when I put her to bed, I wrapped my arms tight around her and told her I was going to stay latched on to her forever. My arms ache at the thought of not being able to pick her up and snuggle her close. I can't comprehend what a mother's arms do when they are absent of a child in them. I don't understand how her heart heals as her baby grows into an adult, never to look back. I don't know how to let her know how I feel when "I love you" seems incredibly insufficient. As I had my arms muckled a hold of her, I told her it would be difficult but I would stay attached forever and she would have to flip extra hard in gymnastics to get us both over the bar, she would have to squeeze over in her car seat so we could both fit and I would try to make myself as small as possible so I could fit on her bike with her. She looked at me, alarmed, and said, "But it will break." And so might my heart when she doesn't need me anymore.