10:03pm, June the second.
We’re on your bed.
Twenty minutes ago, you confessed to me that you’re sleepy. It’s weird because you’re the chatterbox and I would rather listen to you talk.
Even when I’m distracted by my phone, you’d go on and leave me to pick on whatever you say that catches my attention at any given moment.
When I beg you to recount whatever you must have started saying a minute ago, you wouldn’t mind going over it again.
It’s how we bond – you telling me everything you can remember, even the gists we’ve already discussed over the phone.
Our daily phone conversations (8:00am and 8:00pm) don’t compare to our physical interactions.
Mother, it’s magic anytime that we’re together.
10:08pm
You’re finally asleep and I love it that my body leans on you, and your left hand is encircled round my neck.
I can feel the movement on your chest as you breathe in and out of sleep.
My fingers are tiptoeing your hand now, I’m faced with another reminder that you are aging. Gracefully, but you’re aging.
10:12pm
My mind roams to how you reacted to everything I got you and showed to you today.
I’m happy you liked them, and I’m glad that everytime you wear some of them, you’d always remember me, although I know you do not need a reminder to think about me.
You wear me on your heart like a sleeve, just like you do your other children.
Thank you Modúpé, for loving me unconditionally.
Home is where the heart is and my heart is with you. You are home and nothing else matters this time.
