"do you feel loved?" she said the words with a low slow venom dripping drawl, her eyes fixed on the glow of her machine.
i could not answer. i stood at my work- table distracted by the lingering warmth of an arm around my shoulders, a smile, the laughter of my "kids" full up cocooned by their affection, by their unconditional positive regard.
they chose so often to visit me there, to share a word or a joke or a smile, to say my name or take my hand, to collect two or three or four at a time, to surround me with the buoyant emotions of youth, cherubic and unfettered by the bitter rind of cold pain and unlanced regret.
a year later they stand like giants in my memory.
i'm blessed still with some few, while some i've lost entirely, and one alone has grown to be the centerpiece of my heart. i'm grateful every single day for the snapshots of their lives they shared with me, the secrets they told, the tears and the grief, the joy and the drama, the moments when they came to me, and the moments when i went to them.
i am so lucky.
i knew it then. i know it now.
but i still remember those low slow words sunk flat into sarcasm. "do you" she said. "do you feel loved?"
i did.
i do.
February 19, 2021
