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soft rain

I haven’t been this sick or this exhausted in a long time. A week ago today, I was caring for my sick daughter and here I am, laying here quietly, letting my daughter be cared for by another and surrendering to this virus that seems to have knocked me down and will let me back up when it decides to.

I hate it. Hate being weak. I have never, ever been good at feeling weak or needy.

As I lay here in the muted, afternoon light, there is a softness to everything.

Rain falls softly and the birds seem to be singing quietly so as not to disturb my peace. A plane flies overhead and seems more quiet than usual.

I allow myself to melt into this softness like I would into a lover’s arms. There is a sacredness to it, as though I am being gently rocked back and forth by unseen hands.

Beautiful. Lyrical. Soft.

A wave of tears comes over me and I realize that saying, “I love you,” has never been hard for me. I love easily.

“I need you,” on the other hand, is a very different matter. I am not sure if I have ever uttered those words to another person. I wrote it in a monologue once but I don’t think I’ve ever said it.

To need is to let my guard down. To need somehow seems like admitting defeat which I know is absurd but still feels true. I remember a time when my I asked my daughter why I was attracting so many needy people into my life. Her response?

To show you that it’s okay for you to be needy sometimes.

Uh. Yeah.

Just after having this epiphany, my eldest daughter knocks on my door and says, “Just thought I’d check on you and see if you needed anything.”

I tell her I just need to hear a report from the outside world.

I don’t tell her I need her though.

I guess I still have some work to do.

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