enough

I love my daughter so much it actually hurts sometimes. My breath gets caught in my chest, and I have to gasp to free it. Or there is this ache in my heart, as if each beat is a sound wave, an extension of a hand, trying to find her. I need to be near her, I need to know she's ok.

But when she is around I'm busy. Or worried about something. So distracted and annoyed by her. I had the outrageous thought the other day: I put her on the bus and I promised myself that I would be an awesome grandmother. A grandmother! I'm twenty-six years old and I'm already thinking, 'Oh well, I've fucked it up already, I'll do better next generation.' What is wrong with you, Rachael? What is wrong with doing better today? Pull it together, Bloom. And there it is. That aching thump. Where is she. Is she okay. Where is my love, my life, my heart and soul.

I go back and forth on what's best for me and what's best for her and what's best for both of us. Science right now is so much fun. It's what gets me up in the mornings. But it also distracts me, pulls me away. Science is a beast that makes me annoyed if others plead for attention. And on these days I just need to say to myself, right now, it is enough that your heart beats for her. It is enough, this ocean of love beneath the 'not now's, the 'in a minute's, the 'please just go to your room's. And I just have to trust that these days the good-and-bad days, or just the bad days, that my aching heart finds Lena's in the dark, and she knows that I love her.

On these days, this has to be enough. This has to be enough. This is my mantra as my body gives in to exhaustion, as the tiniest hiccup moves me to tears. When the timbre of the world sends me to bed early with the covers pulled up over my head, I have to trust that my love is enough. My heart aching is enough. Love is enough. Love is enough. Today baby, love is enough.