Through These Walls

I'm laying in bed, sipping java from a tangerine coffee mug engraved with the word "Mamacita"--a gift from my daughter and nod to her nickname for me.

In the room nextdoor, I hear her muffled voice talking with my son-in-law; they are in town for their baby shower, a celebration of life's latest little addition, coming to earth this June. I don't know what their muted voices are saying to one another, but the sound brings a sense of peace to my heart. It's as if a small, lost puzzle piece was found hidden under the couch and put back into its proper place again. Ah, there it is. Complete. Family has a way of doing that.

I think about the tiny one growing inside my daughter, and wonder what she can hear, what she knows, understands. Can she feel my love for her beaming through the wall that separates us? Is her tiny being absorbing the conversations that swirl around her? Does she know that the cloth she is made of comes from generational strands of strong, sassy, smart women on both sides? Does she know the world is already a better place because she will be in it? Does she know she won the parent lottery?

Through these walls, does she know she has already shifted my perspective, her tiny heart nudging my priorities into place?

Through these walls, and through the coming years, I hope she feels my gratitude, and always finds comfort knowing she was loved from the very start. And long after I am gone, I hope she knows I'll still be by her side, whispering words of encouragement and hugging her gently in an invisible embrace, reassuring her that she is exactly where she's supposed to be.