Why do you want to see me cry? You know I’m crying, you can hear me, and yet you keep insisting for me to look at you. Why? Do you want to see my swollen tear-ridden eyes, and runny nose? Was my refusal to look at you and my soft voice, not enough. What makes you so curious to see me sad? “Look at me. Now,” you demand in that authoritative, Mom voice of yours. I cave.
Seeing my daughter’s face wet with tears takes me aback, and all sternness from my voice melts away. What did I expect? Did I think seeing her like this make satisfied? It doesn’t. As soon as she lifted her face from her tear soaked pillow I wanted her to put it back. We say nothing and just stare at each other for what seems like an eternity. I open my mouth to say something, to apologize, but before a breath can escape my lips I am pulled into a hug.
We hold each other and it is good.
