Resting

Driving home, I saw a young mother sitting on a street bench outside as she waited for the bus, hugging her toddler boy’s small body as it rested on her chest.

A memory from when I was a child came to me. I was maybe 3 or 4 and we were at a holiday party being given by the plastics factory my father used to work for. It must have been late into the party because, energetic as I was at that age, my face must have shown fatigue and drowsiness as I approached my mother. From her chair, she picked me up to hold me so that I can get some moments of rest.

I closed my eyes to sleep. I remember that my mom, as she held me, was speaking to someone close to where she was sitting. I don’t remember what the conversation was about. I only remember the sound of her voice muffled in my ear as I rested my head against her chest. The sounds stays with me still, clear in my memory. I felt warm and safe as I eventually fell asleep.

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