Sleep is a parachute thrust high above us, our hands gripping the edges of brightly colored silk, anticipating the slow descent and promise of a space we can crouch beneath, tucking these dreams beneath us as our faith in one another creates this momentary pause of light and quiet and co-operation. We sit, our hands tucked under our bones. We giggle, catch one another’s eyes. We look up at the primary colors. We are innocent.
This is how I feel as my youngest wraps his legs around my forearm, reaches for my face with soft fingers, and says, “Mommy, mine!”
The memory of myself as a child, running beneath a cloud of silk…
This is how I feel as my husband reaches his hand across the abdomen that has held our three children and will never again be the flat plane it once was.
I’m a child that trusts in others…
This is how I feel as my husband’s fingers trace my hip bones and our youngest sighs and his fingers relax against my cheek; I feel my life is a parachute thrust high up into the air, gripped tightly by collective souls, all of us glancing at one another as we run toward the middle, aware of the timing, aware that we all must co-operate for this to work, this miralce of color and light and air.
My life, it is a sum of those who love me, who have chosen to believe in me.
How can I say thank you to the people who run toward the center, gripping this silk parachute of faith?
These are the questions that collapse around me as I slip out from the warmth of my husband and my youngest. There are so many people who hold the edges of my parachute beneath them, all of us catching one another’s eyes, children again, believers in miracles…because here we are, running toward one another, sitting, catching this invisible exhale of dreaming.