MOTHERING, 21ST CENTURY EDITION | Creative Nonfiction by Alina Zollfrank

Because I held them after; Because I felt them before they clawed their way into the dim of the delivery room; Because I channeled our dead when I lifted my firstborn to the heavens and said, Look, she’s here and cried tears of relief because the new life lived; Because I spilled over when baby screamed her way through days and nights; Because lullabies I dug out from under long-ago memories in my mother tongue; Because movement, melodies, blood merged; Because rushing, rushing, rushing as my shaking hands held a baby who couldn’t comprehend why we couldn’t comprehend what she needed.

Because worry –

Because I would hover in the driveway, point of total exhaustion in my rearview mirror minutes ago, or hours (or was it days?); Because I’d tread neighborhood sidewalks, empty shell of the mother I had never envisioned I’d be; Because I’d crawl under covers, daylight mocking, frustration crazing; Because I’d channel slumber; Because I’d forgotten what sleep tasted like – Was it warm milk? Or spicy cider? Or mellow chicken soup? Or an orange lollipop after an ouchie? – Because I’d rock myself to doze off, continuous motion, mothership on an ocean, and I’d jump up in a mama lion alert; Because I thought I heard her crying again – again? not again! –

Because for a lifetime, a time full of life –

Because I’d startle awake to rattling sounds and to mocking silence; Because I’d fly across the room – Are you breathing? – Because I’d hear them call out, ill; Because I’d dash and line up for night duty, dry tears, change sheets, bring fever meds and drinks and lollipops; Because I’d hold them, pop them into showers and whisper, there, there, it will get better, this cough will go away; Because I earned a medal for catching vomit – in bowls, bags, even my baggy bra; Because friends, grandmas, ER doctors would say, your kids, they throw up like no one else; Because they were, they are, like no one else.

Because they are –

Because I witness my first-born pound the drum set and my second-born stroke the cello; Because their first public performance together, you better believe it – Don’t stop believin’ – Because we made it through moony, lonely nights, wrong medicines, our second one turning blue; Because we made it through four missed months in middle school, appendectomy during lockdown; Because we made it through broken bones, swollen joints, choking episodes, low blood counts, freak fevers, dehydration, chemo nightmares, weight loss, hair loss, sanity loss, panic meltdowns in clinic.

Because a weighted blanket of immunocompromise –

Because we breathe, dream, and sleep; Because when we don’t snooze, we blink twice for future, drum up hope, coax yesterday’s melodies from strings and honeyed tomorrows from laughter; Because – Can you see us? Can you hear us? –

Because we are not invisible, even if the dropped mask mandate says otherwise, even if the world has moved on and pretends no risk exists, even if folks can never understand what it’s like to not feel safe anywhere anymore other than in your wadded, knotted family shell.

Because you take care of each other –

Because growth. Because beacons spilling liquid beauty across sweetly resting cheeks. Because otherness is not less. Because right. Because here. Because just. Because now.

Because love.

That’s why.

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