The Privilege

She lies on her side curled into a C, tucked under a fuzzy blanket. Her body radiates fever; her wan face sports bright red patches. She moans every so often. She sipped a little tomato soup. Her head aches. It hurts to chew. A whine slips out. Everything hurts, sleep won’t come. “Please come sit near me, Mommy. Don’t leave.” I could be doing so many things: folding laundry, emptying the dishwasher, sweeping, even knitting. But I don’t. There is a sleepy comfort sitting here next to her, listening to her favorite lullaby CD on repeat. Keeping vigil, keeping company. The privilege of a mother.

fever sleep
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One Comment on “The Privilege”

  1. Judith Adams Says:

    Rest, Claire, and get well. She reminds me so much of my granddaughter, who is now in her third year of college. Time goes fast, Kathryn, and the laundry will be there when she is gone!

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