mother.

i rented a cd from the library yesterday. just some piano music that i could listen to in the evening when my work is done and i'm reading.

and i sit with my tension taming tea, i'm surprised to suddenly be surrounded by forest green carpet and a fluffy, flowering bedspread. a lamp with beautiful fringes that are silky to touch. stuffed bears worn from cuddle & play. a cherry end-table with an old portable cd player plugged into a modern bose stereo. it still works. transporting me as the listener to a garden close to home with only a single, familiar tune.

its the song that lulled me to sleep when i lied ill in my parent's bed. the song that filled the air if i needed to talk before the heading to my own bed. the song would play, and i'd sit on top of the cold comforter while my mother stood flossing her teeth in the sea blue bathroom.

the song that reminds me of my mother and how her silk nightgowns were always so smooth to the touch when she would bend down to hug me goodnight.

she would always play her kevin kern cd at night when it was time to wind down and breathe after an exhausting day. and it always worked. i always felt relaxed when i heard the lullaby gently rocking me to sleep.

but maybe its not the piano that relaxed me after all.

maybe it was my mother. maybe it was because she was there, and she knew just what to say to make me step back and breathe. because her squeezing my hand released all anxiety and fear. because her arms were safe, no matter what else the world had waiting.

so tonight as i listen to my renewable cd with my tea and novel, and as i play the garden song on repeat: i think of you, mama.

i miss you.

i love you.