Eternal Remembrance

I stroke my daughter's arm with trembling fingers, cradling her small body into the hole at my chest while she slumbers peacefully. The night sky is dark, peaceful. Her skin is different than mine. It's caramel and sunlight painted into a beautiful blend of flashbacks and terror. She snuggles closer and I bite the inside of my lip to stop the emotion that clogs my throat, cutting like razors. My skin looks luminescent next to hers. I glow in the moonlight seeping through our window and she's dark beauty beside me. 

My child looks everything like me. We match. Twins. Clones. "If anyone is another person it's her and you." Except this darkening of her melanin that blinds me every summer with the reminder that I didn't choose her. She's all of me excluding her skin, which is all of him. Her skin darkens with memories that bite into my soul. 

The mixture of dark and light curls at her forehead are sweaty as she presses into me. I wipe them from her eyes hating the tear that falls from mine. It burns like acid as it drips down my cheeks and stains me with shame. How can anyone be so terrified of their own child? My shoulders wish to shake. I want to crumple and fall apart, to spill the secrets I have trapped inside boxes in the maze of my memories, to escape the reminder that I didn't get a choice in anything. 

But, she snuggles closer again and throws her small arm around my side. She makes tiny noises in the back of her throat and twitches her nose against the dust invading it; that miniature version of my own button nose. My daughter burrows herself into my body and I can't fall apart. The tears stick in my throat and I swallow them forcefully. Does everyone love their child this much? They must. 

This surprise of a child that I didn't ask for was everything I needed. So why does the sight of her sun darkened skin send me into a panic? The reality of her skin blurs into the memory of his until my head is light and I'm swimming through emotions too many to name or control. No longer am I cuddled to this splendid slip of a savior lying underneath the cool summer air breezing in from outside. 

No longer am I safe and strong, instead I am cushioned with dirty socks. My head is cradled by muscles and held firmly, if not romantically, in place so that the dusty metal heater grating so loudly I can't hear myself scream doesn't dent my 18 year old head. I know I'm 18 because that mattered. He had to be sure I was legal to rape before doing so. 

My eyes can't focus. I try to but the room swims and all I can feel is his weight on top of me. His lips press into my forehead and I want to pull away but he's holding me so tightly I can't twitch so I close my eyes instead, desperately squeezing them shut. It doesn't help. The room continues to spin as my body thrusts and scratches across the floor with each forceful entrance. I'm too drunk. Too high. I can't stop anything. My throat closes and a hand covers my mouth. 

Tiny fingers close around my own and I jerk before I can stop myself. They tighten and the swimming stops, I'm back in bed under the cool breeze resting with the fruit of my unwilling labor. Nausea bubbles in my stomach licking the back of my throat like flames that are too high to tame. Those fingers fall away as her sleep heavy arm slips up to rest under her chin. 

From the tip of that rounded chin, to her nose, to the curls that stick with perspiration, to her short little body she is all me. Her fingers dip into her chin and her head burrows even deeper into my chest, breaking me in half. My heart can't hold itself together, desperate to burst at it's barely sewn together seems from the influx of love and emotion that fills me. How does one accept this love and devotion without falling apart? It swells and builds inside me until my cracks begin to break but somehow manages to make me stronger.

I'm not built for love. My mind isn't meant to sustain emotions; survival my only decision until I didn't get the choice anymore. Bringing her into my world, moving a full 8 hours from everything I've ever known, completely re-starting myself- that became the ultimate decision. My special declaration of love. The strength inside me only strong enough to hold myself together while separate from his forced affections and her abuse. How does one learn to function outside of puppetry?

My daughter shifts again, bringing me back to the present. Her hands no longer control me. He is no longer here. I curl my fingers tighter around the bundle in my arms and inhale deeply, grounding myself in the reality of her scent and touch. I'm home. I'm home with my daughter in our home. I'm home with my daughter in our home safe and locked up tight. Her pjs are soft under my fingers so I twist them around, focusing only on the cheap faux velvet. Not dirty socks. Not a screeching heater. No hands on my face and body inside mine. 

"Momma?" Her shaky voice pushes through the cracks in my mind and help to ground me. She scrunches her face, rubs at the sleep in her eyes, and finally opens them to stare up at me, wide with worry. "Momma?" 

Momma. Mom. I'm mom now. I squeeze her tighter in my arms and laughter drifts from her lips. It tumbles out of mine in an echo of happiness and safety. I tickle her belly until the laughter is too much and she begs me to stop. "Hello my favorite daughter." 

She smiles and it lights up her face. It cracks my heart and she crawls inside to fill what terror carved out. It makes me want to weep. Instead I smile back and bring her into the cradle of my arms again. She closes her eyes, nightmare passed, and presses her entire face into my chest. "Can you breathe down there?" 

Soft laughter follows until it finally drifts to nothing as she succumbs to sleep. My own nightmares finally extinguished for the night, I close my eyes and allow myself to do the same.