It pains me to leave my youngest girl every day as I leave for work. Her blond, partly untidy hair and the sparkling blue eyes that look at me as she pouts her underlip and wonders why I can´t stay home with her. I explain, as I do every time she asks, that I have to work, and that I cannot bring her with me to work. Then a warm hug follows in the hallway of the kindergarden before we do the same routine that we do every single day; she runs inside to her department, and I run out the door, the exitement beaming from my 5-year old; who will get there first? We run to a window, her on the inside, me on the outside. Of course, she always wins. She opens the window and I put my head through to get closer. We hug and kiss and say all the warm words that warm our hearts, before closeness turns to blowing kisses in the wind, turns to words of love carried by the air between the gates out and the still open window. Part of my heart stays behind that gate. It doesn´t come with me to work. It is left behind. In the chubby hands of a five-year-old.
It is a challenge to walk around a whole day missing a part of your heart. It hurts to spend more time apart from where the heart belongs. But at this particular time of my life, it is a necessity, so I have to make it work somehow. It is hard, but I am grateful to at least have a job where my heart definitely is needed.
I came home the other night, tired from a long day of work. After dinner and helping the eldest kids with homework, it was time to put the youngest to bed. My five year old wanted to cuddle first, but I was so exhausted so I asked her to get ready for bed and give me some time and I would soon follow. Half an hour later, I jumped up. It was pretty likely she had already fallen asleep. I ran up the stairs and saw her cute little face, barely awake, lying on top of her duvet. Her eyes were striving to stay up, but she smiled as she saw me and seemed to regain energy. I swept her up in my arms and carried her into my bed and lay beside her. She crawled up tight beside me and buried her face in my cheeks. As she did this she sighted delightfully and exclaimed: "Finally... This is the joy I was waiting for..."
Then she pushed her face, if really possible, even tighter to mine, rested her warm arm around my neck and repeated: "This is the joy I was waiting for..."
Two minutes passed and her breath was calm and steadfast as she had fallen asleep in her own safe haven.
I am so incredibly greatful that I made it. I managed to spend those two golden minutes with her. Two tiny minutes of great value.
Every minute of our lives is valuable. Let us remember to give each other time.
Love is spelled