Sunday, April 3, 2011

April 3, 2011

Last night I lay awake listening to Anaya's breathing. Lately it has become more shallow, more labored. She's been needing oxygen almost 24 hours a day. I was hoping that she would not need it after recovering from her recent illness, but she does. This makes me wonder about her brain function. Is the demylination spreading more into her brain stem? Is she drawing closer to the end of her journey? How many breaths do we have left?

I take her in my arms and kiss her cheeks, reveling in the incredible softness found only there. How can I memorize the feeling? Touching her hand, I feel her chubby little fingers close around mine, and she sighs contentedly. She knows her mama. She's always known her mama. Holding her I walk to the sunshine coming through the window. We stand in the warmth and I hum to her, singing her a sunshine song. We named her after the Sun. "Aya" was an ancient sun god. An- Aya. Perhaps we presumed too much.

She is wide awake now, eyes open, seeking for light that isn't there. I nestle her safely in the crook of my arms and rock her way down and then way up like a swing. When I get to the top her eyes open wide and I see a smile in her eyes. It's like an Anaya-safe version of being thrown up in the air.

Sensing that she has had enough I snuggle her to my shoulder and we press our hearts near each other and melt in the wonder that is the baby-mama bond. How many more days will I get to be with her? The answer is unknowable. I try to focus on the present and enjoy the moments. All the little things still call away my attention. Housework, yard work, business, Solara...even on a Sunday.

I pass my little snuggle bug to the nurse and head upstairs to work on some data entry. I have a deadline to meet in a few days....


  1. Her name suits her, I think. I heard once that starts that have the shortest lives always burn the brightest. And I think it's clear from your Facebook page and everything else that Anaya has touched many people.

  2. your little an-aya is pure light. pure warmth. pure sunshine. i dont think you presumed too much. i'll bet because of her name she will always be in the sun even when she carries on her journey. imagine her soft little fingers and beautiful wee being transformed in her own luminating glowing warm and sleepy sunbeam? it will warm your skin. my skin. it will make plants grow. on the earth we know her little energy has touched so many lives already in the short time she has been here. i suspect her 'aya' energy will live on long long after any of us. after all our wishes and words.
    great news on the freezer. my milk supply has decreased so much or i would still be sending. i send my love instead. every day.
    your a wonderful mother camara. your mothering has changed me. i will always be grateful to you for that.

  3. My heart goes out to you and your family. My child was born with special needs and we have experience living with complex medical issues. It can't help but change someone. I so understand about wanting to memorize the feeling of Anaya's touch. A friend lost her son recently and the day before he passed away she had a cast done of her son's little foot and one with her hand holding his chubby hand. I thought they were beautiful. I know it can never make up for the feeling of the real thing. But it was a way to capture some part of him in a way she now treasures. Anaya is so lucky to have such a wonderful loving family and deep thinking mom. And you are so lucky to have Anaya who inspires us to find beauty in the things that are most important. Your family are in my prayers...


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