Motherless Mother

"Mommy, will you be with me the whole day tomorrow?'

My 4XX asks as I put on her barely pink cotton jammies, that have been washed to otherworldly softness. Her question is a common one, asked by 4 year olds everywhere. But this innocent question settles in my chest. Her love for me is a book that I am not quite smart enough to figure out. She is going through a stage that all my children have gone through to one degree or another. She wants me around all the time, but with her it's different. With her, everything is different. She is an intense, bright child. XX13 was never me, she was herself. She is the me I aspire to be. She asks for what she wants. She believes she is great, and accepts that the world will love her. She is always right, on both counts. She is perfectly proportioned, physically, never dealing with my narrow sloping shoulders, or too short upper body. I wear V-necks to make my neck look longer. If her neck looked any longer she would resemble those women who wear the brass rings around their necks. My role with her has always been clear, though never typical. She is a natural born caretaker. I walk unsteadily in my relationship with her. I used to wonder if I would have been like her if I had not lost my mother at such an early age. When XX4 came along I got my answer to that question. I could never have been XX13. She is my husband's, my sister-in-law's, my mother-in-law's, never mine. She loves me, but it is a patient, tolerant love. She thinks I am funny, and an acceptable fashion consultant if no one else is around, but she is her own, and her father's.

XX4 is Mine. All mine! Her wavy hair, her short neck, her dimples and deep-set eyes. She can't be still unless she is drawing or reading. Her temper often gets the best of her. She talks non-stop, and always wants to know the 'fancy' word for everything. 'Parched', not 'Thirsty'. 'Starving' not 'Hungry'. 'Exhausted' not 'Tired'. Oh yeah, she's all mine. She loves me with an intensity that makes me a little edgy. I have no experience with this type of mother/daughter love. Often, like tonight, it feels like a cool breeze blowing across an open wound I forgot I had. Why? I always want to ask. I do not have a point of reference for unconditional mother love. I need to be reassured all the time. I need her to have a mother, and be who I could not be. She is who I could have been. But she is also who I can never be. I will continue to be the mother I am called to be, but I will always feel the absence of the mother who wasn't there.