uphill comfort (12.13pm)

when i was twelve or thirteen my mum gave me an old postcard. dressed in king james attire, the words were old fashioned but i memorized them.  it was a message i tucked deep down in my mind but easily found for moments i wanted just comfort—like the familiar smell of a blankie or how your mother’s hands feel.

it has traveled through skies and over oceans with me…brought out of boxes over and over.

a year ago i handed it to my daughter.  at eleven years alive, her almost the same uphills seem a little steeper than i remember.  so i gave her an old tin bottle of water for her journey in the shape of a postcard. i hoped she would learn to take a drink from it now and then.

it lives in R’s room now—-among hair bows and love letters from her dad.  though i know it at heart, i sometimes linger in front of the old-fashioned comfort, a familiar place still.

and sometimes, when i see her holding it—-whispering the rhyme to remember.  my heart fills up with new comfort.


2 thoughts on “uphill comfort (12.13pm)

  1. I keep following your writings and I love the way you hold things in the resesses of your heart and bring them up at unexpected moments to give as gifts to the reader. X0

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