Mia's Coping Journal

Mia Hernandez

1/21/22

Today I sat outside and held my boy. He didn’t comment on it, maybe he wasn’t aware, but none the less he curled into my arms and closed his eyes. I swaddled him in the knitted blanket and kissed his downy curls, rocking with the wind. I asked him if he wanted to hear a story, and he told me he did. I told the story of the mother who couldn’t conceive. I told him my story. The end was sweet though, happy, and joyful. The little boy grew up and he and the mother never parted. Forever together, as one pair. Jay liked that ending very much and asked me if that would be me and him. I changed the subject and asked him if he learned any new songs. He told me the forest taught him a mourning melody. Smiling he said, “But why would I need that, I’m happy, you’re happy, we’re not mourning.” I forced a laugh out, clutching tighter to him, like that would keep me tethered. If only he had known. I’m sorry Jay, your mothers quite the coward.

 

1/22/22

When the sun rises, the moon falls. When the moon rises, the sun falls. They both can’t occupy the sky unless there’s an eclipse. Even then their shared time in the sky is short. The sun and the moon remind me of you and me.

1/23/22

It rained today, but we still went outside. Jazis dragged me into the rain. Giggling and laughing he rose his hands into the sky letting the rain beat down over his head. His cheeks were already flushed from the cold, the rosy hues only seemed to grow by the exertion of his playing. He beamed at me touching my arm and then dashing off calling, “You’re it.” I watched him run, far, far until his figure blurred and blended with the shadowing light of the storm. When he reached the outskirt of the forest, I opened my mouth and wailed. The rain muffled the noise and washed the tears away. “Come get me, mom!” He screamed over the rain. The distress was smothered by the clash of the thunder. I scrubbed my eyes and took off running down the grassy hill, almost falling, almost breaking. When he saw me ascending, he screeched in joy and scrambled farther away. It was as if my sickness was being lifted, my muscles growing strong once more, a weight being lifted from my shoulders. My leg muscles burned as I ran faster, faster.  My fingers were grazing my son’s arm in an outstretched prayer, and then he was in my arms falling from the weight of the tackle. He was chirping and giggling, and we laid there in the mud.