The sun was starting to set on the horizon, the sky awash with tints of red and orange. If my husband were here, I thought to myself, he would probably say that it reminds him of my eyes. I raised my hand to my face, feeling the warmth building there. My husband had left a little while ago, saying that he hoped to find some fresh fruit for dinner. He had asked Anya if she wanted anything in particular, but she declined, pointing to her roots and shortly burying them beneath the soft earth’s surface with a contented sigh.
Anya was now a short distance away from where I sat with my feet tucked beneath me. She was amusing herself with the metal tipped stick my husband used to mark the boundaries of our home. Watching her happily whittle away at the earth gave me a warm and fuzzy feeling, one that I had never felt before. It was a soft, inviting feeling that made my chest well with happiness. It was different from the feeling I have when I am around my husband.
When I am him, my heart beats so fast, I feel as if it is about to burst out of my chest. Whenever he puts his arm around me, I feel as if I want to melt into his arms. When he is around, I feel safe, knowing he will never let me come to harm.
When I hold little Anya in my arms, however, it is an entirely different feeling. My heart feels still, a small island surrounded by the warm seas. When she laughs, I can feel myself wanting to laugh with her. When she smiles, I want to wrap her in my arms and never let go. Every time she calls out to me, saying “Mama!” with an affectionate voice, I have to resist the urge to cry, my joy is so great.
Is this feeling what they call having a motherly instinct? Whatever it turned out to be, I didn’t want this feeling to fade. I will forever be grateful to my precious daughter Anya for allowing me to experience it, and to my husband who brought her to me. I want her every day to be filled with laughter and happiness.
“Ah, it’s finished!” she cried out joyously, shaking me out of my silent reverie. “What’s finished?” I called back to her. I had not known she was actually working on something. I had naturally assumed she enjoyed digging into the earth, being one of the flower kindred by birth.
“Come look, look!” she replied in turn, turning around and motioning for me to come closer. Curious to see what she was up to, I decided to rise from my position. I padded across the earth with my bare feet, the soft grass tickling at the sides of my feet. I sat down next to my daughter, gazing at the point on the earth where she pointed joyously with her small hand.
Carved into the earth were three little figures. It was a simple drawing, the handiwork of an eager child. I could not help but feel a smile grow upon my face. “Look, Mama!” she repeated, pointing to the figure furthest on the left. I followed her with my eyes, settling them to rest upon the figure of a woman sitting in a flower.
“That’s my Mama in heaven.” She explained, a sad look upon her face. I looked closer, and I could see a small circle above the woman’s head. Was it a halo? She then drew her finger over to the figure standing on the far right. It was a simple little figure, with two arms and two legs, with nothing strange or spectacular to say about it.
“This one is Papa.” She said simply, sticking out her tongue cutely with her eyes shut. Although she acted like she didn’t like my husband while he was still around, as he left to gather fruits I noticed she watched after him until his figure had long disappeared between the trees. She then drew her finger along to the earth and stopped beneath the third figure, drawing my eyes to it. It was a small figure, shorter than both my husband’s and her birth mother’s. It wore a round object around its hips.
“This one is my Mama who loves my Papa!” she said happily as she looked at me with her adorable smile. I felt myself smile in return. This child, myself unaware the entire time, had been carving a drawing of her parents. I felt my eyes drift toward the figure of her birth mother. I whispered a prayer of safe passage to the afterlife under my breath, as well as promised to take good care of her daughter, in the sacred language of my people. As a flower dweller, her spirit would not be able to understand me, but it was my hope that the words would not be necessary, and that my feelings alone would be enough to quell any fears she may have felt for the safety of her daughter.
Thinking that she was finished showing me her drawing, I made as if to rise, but she tugged at my hand, pulling me towards the ground. She pointed her little finger at the figure yet again that she had identified as myself. However, this time, she pointed not at my feet, but at my arms. I had found it a little odd that my figure’s arms alone had been across my chest, when those of her birth mother and her father were at their sides. As I looked more closely this time, I quickly realized why.
“This one is me!” she explained cheerily, although it was no longer necessary. In my arms, was a tiny figure of a flower dweller. I could just make out the edges of a smile on its tiny face.
“Eueeh?” she cried in confusion as I wrapped my arms around my precious daughter. I could feel the tears rolling down my cheeks, although they did not express my sorrow, but my immense joy. “Mama’s crying!” she said worriedly, looking up at my face. It wasn’t long before she noticed my smile, however. “Mama,” she asked of me, “why are you smiling, even though you are crying?”
“I’m crying because I’m happy, my daughter.” I replied as calmly as I could, although my heart felt ready to burst with happiness.
“Then…” she said slowly, and a tear began to fall down her own cheek. “Is it okay to cry when you’re really happy?” she asked me hesitantly. “Because, right now, I really want to cry, even though I’m really happy.” She said, as more tears began to streak down her beautiful face. “Mama’s hug is so warm, and it made me feel really, really, happy.” She explained to me. “So much, that I felt like I could cry, and then I did.” She said in her childish voice. “Mama, is it really okay for me to cry?”
“Yes, my dear. Yes, it is,” I said, pulling her closer to me as I continued to shed tears of joy.
“Then…” she said as her tears continued to flow like beautiful jewels. “Why are you crying, Mama?” she asked me through her tears.
“It’s because I love you, Anya.” I said, and meant it with all of my heart.
“Nnnh!” she replied in her childish manner. “Anya loves Mama too!” She squirmed a little. “And…Papa too!” she added.
Together we laughed through our tears at that. As I held my precious daughter in my arms, my tears blurring my vision, somewhere, in my heart, I felt the warm feeling that I held towards Anya grow even stronger.
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