April 11, 2011


I can't remember exactly how old I was.
But I'd reached the point where I thought I was too old for a blankie.
So I decided that on my upcoming birthday, blankie would go.

The day loomed.
I was anxious.
But I was resolved.
I'd had enough of my brothers mocking me
and I knew I had to do it.

When the day finally came, 
we had my birthday dinner (which I can't recall - it would have been something I loved, I'm sure. )
and after birthday cake and presents, I ceremoniously gathered up my pink blankie in my arms
and carried it downstairs to the laundry room.
My bratty older brothers followed me. I don't think they thought I'd go through with it so they continued to mock me all the way. 
I got to the laundry room (I think I knew that the dirtiest thing that ever saw that garbage can was lint from the dryer) 
and kissed it good-bye.
In it went with a toss
and I brushed my hands together and turned to go back upstairs.

I felt ok.
I knew I'd made the right choice.
I felt proud of being all grown up.

My brothers stopped mocking me
and I carried on.

But a little later on, bedtime came.
I brushed my teeth
and was tucked in

and some time passed....

I couldn't sleep
I couldn't settle
I started to fidget
and worry
over the blankie.

I can't remember if I called to my mother
or if she heard me fussing
but she finally came in and asked me why I was crying
(because, at that point, I was in a state. 
Feeling regret in the depths of my heart.)

I told her I couldn't do it.
I needed the blankie back.

She assured me it was ok
and that she would go get it for me
so the boys wouldn't know.
It would be our secret.

That's the gift a mother can give -
love, security and secrets when necessary.

I miss that love.

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