Sunday, 13 February 2011


Lessons come from the strangest of quarters, and when one least expects them.

This last week I have had so much on my mind.  I have been troubled by what I should do, when I should do it, why I should do it.  In being caught up in these trials and tribulations in my mind, I know I have been less present in the moment.  In the pits of my grief and my fear and my anxiety, I have sunk down and left the surface.  In my focus on future possibilities and happenings, I have all but abandoned the now.  Apart from myself, who is my Now? My little girl is.  I have gone through the motions of parental care this week, but I have not fully inhabited them.  I have been short with her, where my mind has been occupied with other matters, and my heart divided.  In the absence of being able to tell her how I really feel, what I am really thinking about, how my heart has been troubled and hurting, I have scolded her for an untidy bedroom, and been impatient with her with one thing after another.

Tonight, my daughter, my gorgeous little girl, taught me a lesson...gently and lovingly.  After my own supper and evening, I came upstairs to check that she was settled and asleep, as I usually do.  She normally plays quietly on her own in her room before going to sleep, perhaps listening to a story on disc.  Generally making even more mess to be tidied up the next day.  Tonight, things were different.  Tonight, when I silently entered her room, I saw an entirely different scene.  My little girl had used her play time, her own private lovely time when she does as she wishes in the privacy of her own room, to tidy that room.  The floor was completely clear, toys were neat and ordered, desk tidy.  I know how long that would have taken her...all of her own time.  Then, she had gone one step further.  There, in the centre of her floor, was a little person laid out in the guise of her school uniform, pants and socks, all neatly arranged, ready for tomorrow.

My daughter herself was tucked up in her bed, clutching her teddy bear, fast asleep.  After completing her task, she had put herself neatly and uncomplainingly to bed.  Quietly, I kissed her cheek, her forehead, tears flowing without sound, as I thanked my little angel for teaching me a lesson.


  1. You have me snivelling at this post. That is just so beautiful. We do often forget that our children do listen, they just don't always respond. Looks like your has learnt a lesson too. I have had similar experiences with Amy.

    CJ xx

  2. CJ, thank you for your heartfelt is so much part of making the sharing of these things worthwhile...and indeed truly shared. E x