A quiet and lazy morning, sun beaming in, and a cool breeze through the window. The door opens a crack, and she slips through, crawling up the end of the bed to the space beside me. She snuggles in like she’s done since she was small, stealing a spot on the pillow, and immediately closes her eyes. Peacefully, we breathe together, drowsily avoiding opening our eyes too much, as it would break the spell of the sunlight. In this moment, nothing matters.There is no schedule, no deadlines, no work to do. No dishes to wash, no writing to do. Just each others’ breathing. And it is perfect.
I curl my arm around her, pulling her tight. She has grown so strong, so big — but she’s still that playful little girl. The silly girl who makes faces and leaves her tornado of clothes and books in her wake. Who gets frustrated when people don’t work hard enough, when her plans don’t come together as planned. Who likes to ride her scooter up the city’s streets, or who takes joy in navigating the subway on her own.
In this moment, words are useless. Breathing together, we know. We’ve got one another’s back.
There will be a time when she won’t do this any longer; when she will be too old, too big, too grown up. When she’s out changing the world in her own way, making it better. But these quiet mornings are a reminder of everything good in that world, everything worth preserving. And we’ll both know.
“Breathing” was written by Kendra Jones.
Kendra Jones is a theatre-maker based in Toronto, Canada www.kendrajones.net