tangles

How could I have known that I would have a daughter with curly hair? I will never stop being amazed by this.

Last night, as she toyed with the tiny astronaut attached to the string which is attached to the pop-up book about space, I stared at the back of her head. Without thinking I put my hand in the back of her hair, to try to get some of the tangles out. I pulled softly, I pretend my hand is invisible, that it won’t hurt a bit. Inevitably, I pull a knot too hard. OW!, her hand reaches back to feel what was causing her pain. Sorry, I say, but I don’t stop. I know there are more and more little knots tied up in those curls and I can’t stop myself. She puts the half inch-sized astronaut into the airlock for the night. I tell her it’s time to climb up to bed. I say it at least three more times because that’s what it’s like with her. She’s in space, her curls floating in zero-gravity. Finally, she shuts the big book, not because of the five times I’ve told her to, but because she was finally finished. She climbs up the ladder and folds herself into her covers. There are some tangles I will never be able to undo.

I forgot to tell you that in the circle I wrote about last night, in that circle, at the beginning of that circle, the shaman instructed us to silently choose one person who we would take care of. Throughout the ceremony, we could offer support to that person in whatever way they were needing. I picked my person, using only my eyes.

She said we were all grief sisters. That when any one of us saw one another, that we would know the work that had been done.