Posted May 22, 2012on:
it’s white fog outside, covering our view of the hills in a gauzy haze that lights up the night. In Viet Nam, we call it “salted fog.” I never saw much fog until I came to the US.
May was sleeping next to Son as usual. If left to her own, she would stay in her bed and falls asleep there. But if Son goes to bed at the same time, she just rolls over next to him right before she drifts off. A few hours later in the night, she always manages to roll back into her bed. Tonight I came in a bit early, so she didn’t move yet. I hugged her to carry her back over, and she automatically put her arms up around my neck, still deep asleep. Then I placed her down, and she just collected her arms back to her chest, rolled to her side and curled up. Such contentment and innocence always touches me. A child who knows she’s loved and safe in her sleep. Such crushing responsibility, how it rests with us to sustain her in this bubble. I remember as a child, I never had to fear for my life when I lay down to sleep. I always wonder about my luck – our luck – how did it happen that we drew the straws to end up on this side of the world.