I pass by her as she sleeps on her tower of pillows…or a cool patch of floor…or a tussled rug. I stop to take watch, holding my breath. My heart braces against its own brittleness.
I see her 17-year old chest rise with a deep, sleepy breath. Then I too can exhale. With so many years collected between us, she sleeps more often, and so I stop more often.
I wait. I watch. Her chest rises.
Today is not the day my heart will break. I carry on gratefully and let her sleep soundly.
Katherine Tucker lives in Houston, Texas and is, in short: a mama to 2 four-leggeds, a sometimes artist, other times writer, aspiring dog trainer, health-chaser, and full-time dreamer. You can catch her very randomly at chattykatherine.blogspot.com.