A Writing Journey

(I celebrated my sweet grandniece Halee’s birthday on Saturday. I have been blessed to know her for three years. She is a wonderful teacher and I have learned a great deal from her in that short time — about patience, play, wonder, joy and love. Seeing her now in her big girl bed, finishing the sentences being read to her from familiar books and protesting at the very idea of going to sleep — it all reminded me of a much earlier time when she was just a baby, in her crib, with only cries and babbling to express herself.  When I would babysit then, bedtime usually brought the sound of silence…eventually. And her breath, it was something to which I longed to listen. Here’s a poem I wrote a couple of years ago (and went searching for tonight) when Halee was just seven months old. These words instantly transported me back to a few blissful moments — ones that, at the time, I wished would never end.)

I slowly turn the doorknob,
trying not to make a sound
Allowing just a sliver of light to enter
Enough to guide my path
As I hold my hands in front
To steer myself in the right direction
To the edge of her crib
I stand and brace myself
Not wanting my breath or the weight of
My feet to make the slightest move
I peer in
To her
I scan her body with my eyes
Like seeing her for the first time
Every time
My eyes stop and focus on her belly
To wait and watch
For the tiny rise and fall
To see her expand just that little bit
Before descending again
I watch and I listen
Her breath is like magic
It captivates me
I long to hear it
To see it
To know that she is sleeping
Soundly
Without a worry
Blissful and complete
In that moment
I sigh, relieved and happy
I make my trekk
Back to the door
To escape without a sound
And with my heart full