Sep 2014
A year had passed since, and so far a little one’s freshly-birthed body had only ever been cradled by the hands of the mountains. A plane brought them back to the motherland and for the first time, the sandy shore of the Netherlands embraced the lightness of the little one’s footsteps with a surreal familiarity as if her toes were raindrops coming home to the ocean. A mother smiled with stupid instinct plastered on her face by the little one’s mirrored expression.
Expecting no response from the little one but laughter, she asked, “You like it, liefje? Me too.”
Irrational joy erupted from the little one’s babbling mouth at the sight of an infinite horizon, but a fearful hand clutched a mother’s pointer finger.
Timid hesitancy shook the little one’s head at the suggestion of entering such a moving, living mass. In only a second, impulsive curiosity drove her little feet forward into the wet. A mother inched forward to shin-deep as the little one waddled, still clutching, until chilled up to her chin.
The little one spoke with a laugh, asking for a few things: to go forward, to never leave, to know how to express herself. Words weren’t familiar and could not have captured her feelings anyhow. Her good spirits were not interrupted by these limitations, only by the currents. A wave that was thought to be a new friend threw a punch to the little one’s unsuspecting face. A punch that was only a splash to a motherly shin. The little one crumbled and retreated from the fight. She was wounded with salt water stinging her nose. Surprised and enthused, the little one let out a cry. The dominating singe of salt in her mouth and nostrils overthrew her sense of smell. It seemed to be a betrayal of the sea, so she fled to steady and supportive arms that watched from the trustworthy shore, only steps away. The little one’s fear and strife was addressed with loving but casual sympathy.
A mother’s chuckles implied a lack of severity to the situation. “Does it hurt, Sofietje? No need to cry, you’ll be fine.” The little one felt relieved but still the worst pain of her short life was not being attended to. For just a moment the world ****** and a lesson was learned and an understanding of the pain began establishing itself.
When the breeze blessed her with relief and the familiar scent of a mother’s skin returned, there seemed nothing more important then to also return to the water. The little one was smarter now; she knew it could make her cry loud, but she also knew it made her laugh louder.
To have a child let a mother be a child and share in the freshness of perspective. A mother cringed with nostalgia as her last and littlest one now inherited the waves of her childhood. And they were received with nothing but the proper response: incoherent elation.
Expecting no response from the little one but laughter, she asked, “You like it, liefje? Me too.”
Irrational joy erupted from the little one’s babbling mouth at the sight of an infinite horizon, but a fearful hand clutched a mother’s pointer finger.
Timid hesitancy shook the little one’s head at the suggestion of entering such a moving, living mass. In only a second, impulsive curiosity drove her little feet forward into the wet. A mother inched forward to shin-deep as the little one waddled, still clutching, until chilled up to her chin.
The little one spoke with a laugh, asking for a few things: to go forward, to never leave, to know how to express herself. Words weren’t familiar and could not have captured her feelings anyhow. Her good spirits were not interrupted by these limitations, only by the currents. A wave that was thought to be a new friend threw a punch to the little one’s unsuspecting face. A punch that was only a splash to a motherly shin. The little one crumbled and retreated from the fight. She was wounded with salt water stinging her nose. Surprised and enthused, the little one let out a cry. The dominating singe of salt in her mouth and nostrils overthrew her sense of smell. It seemed to be a betrayal of the sea, so she fled to steady and supportive arms that watched from the trustworthy shore, only steps away. The little one’s fear and strife was addressed with loving but casual sympathy.
A mother’s chuckles implied a lack of severity to the situation. “Does it hurt, Sofietje? No need to cry, you’ll be fine.” The little one felt relieved but still the worst pain of her short life was not being attended to. For just a moment the world ****** and a lesson was learned and an understanding of the pain began establishing itself.
When the breeze blessed her with relief and the familiar scent of a mother’s skin returned, there seemed nothing more important then to also return to the water. The little one was smarter now; she knew it could make her cry loud, but she also knew it made her laugh louder.
To have a child let a mother be a child and share in the freshness of perspective. A mother cringed with nostalgia as her last and littlest one now inherited the waves of her childhood. And they were received with nothing but the proper response: incoherent elation.
