When Jonah was just a few days old there was this moment in his infant induced I’m starving feed me five minutes ago panic when his mom’s voice came into earshot and his eyes widened and he almost stopped crying. He at least cried a little quieter for a half second.
And I remember the feeling of relief that I could hang my hat on in that moment, knowing that regardless of her age or the rumors or the reputation she had– she had done something, enough right during her pregnancy that this wee barely functioning human recognized her and loved her. Knew love before he knew anything else.
I was disappointed to see she didn’t notice in her panic, but when I described it to her later I saw the tears dance in the corner of her eyes and the smallest pearl of hope, maybe I can do this. Maybe it will be okay.
The love of a baby is magical. The love of something that doesn’t know self or other or consequences of love. Just feeling. Just pure outpouring of positive feeling. Hi, I’m alive and I’m Happy.
And in turn, I think loving someone again like this has reinvigorated me. It’s rejuvenating. It’s devastating. I love that word. Devastating. Like a long fall off a tall cliff. You forget where you started. How you fell in the first place.
I only want love in my life.
You, you, you–get out.
My friend who called herself a medium said I would meet someone within the next 6 months and I would love them. She said it would be someone I would recognize right away. I didn’t think she meant the man cub. She had to have meant the man cub. She introduced me to my past life and since then it’s become a chapter of myself I don’t want to finish. And since I made the appointment to return to it I can feel him waiting, the one she recognized as my guardian angel. He is the heavy symbolism in my dream; my easy morning; the slow smile on my face; the full feeling in my chest; the speed of my sprint; the dance in the kitchen; the hush of my brain. Maybe it’s all a bunch of hocus pocus. I don’t know what to believe, but I believe in this.