By Mia Noehtuya
I held her face to mine the first time she felt the air. I kissed her gently and wrapped her warmly. Her face giggled, wiggled, got tickled, and cried.
I watched her face grow, blossom, bloom. I knew her better than anyone else. I loved, I hated, I kissed, and, admittedly, at times, I slapped her beautiful face.
As she lies here today, I stroke her cheek one last time. There will be light in her eyes next time I see her angelic face. Until then, it’s her I will see nightly, daily, haunting my dreams. She’s every child to me.
That would have been great if not for the over indulgence in rolling verbs. “Her face giggled, wiggled, got tickled, and cried.” my roll off the tongue nicely, but it makes no sense. Face can neither giggle, wiggle or cry.
Mia, that last line resonates with me. So full of sorrow, makes me wince.
A life cut short and a mother’s pain. A lovely read-nicely done.