More Than Blood

Sometimes, I would carry one or both of them to their bed. I might bounce or playfully plop them on their mattress or a on a huge mound of stuffed animals, to see and hear them erupt with laughter and giggles and glorious grins and smiles. They would often jump back into my arms or grab onto my hand or try to topple me onto their bed with them. They would eventually get tucked away under a blanket or snuggled up in the “baby” (stuffed animals) mound and tell their stories of a rose and a thorn and a bud. I would rub their feet or tickle their toes and joke with them in funny voices while they told their stories of the day. And after I had been there for some time, it also became normal for me to stroke their hair or gently scratch their heads to help them relax. I would kiss them both goodnight, gently on their foreheads or on their most exposed temple, and as I would leave their room, I would say “I love you” to both of them or “Goodnight little loves, I love you, sweet dreams.” It isn’t just a story. They became my daughters, as much as, if not more than, blood……and sometimes my tears won’t stop when it hits me, over and over, that I may never be allowed to ever see them again.

“Jeffey”          2016

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