I remember sitting in dark after dinner, holding one of my boys in my arms. It was after dinner and we were waiting for the prayer before going to bed.
There was rice and papaya peels on the table, loud music blasting in the background and chatter of all the children. Yet, we were alone in that silent moment, just me and my kid.
I remember the night getting cold, yet I was sitting there in shorts and tee, and my baby had wet pants and sticky hands which grabbed my shirt. I didn't care. He was asleep and I wasn't going to wake him up.
I remember standing up for the prayer, his face pressed to the side of my neck, still asleep. He's no longer a baby, his toes kicking my knee as I stood in a circle, praying with my boy in my arms.
I miss my kids. A phrase I repeat too many times a day, in my head.
I wonder who put him to bed tonight. Did he fall asleep with head on the table, like I've seen him do many times? Was there someone to pick him up and hold him before it was time for bed?
I remember the chaos of saying good-night. Everyone running around, hugging, saying how much we love each other, really meaning it, wishing sweet dreams and kissing foreheads, with my boy still in my arms.
I remember how I had to ask Sospeter to pick up the shoe which slipped off my baby's foot as I carried him to the bedroom. I remember how dark it was outside, I can still feel the dog brushing against my leg as it run around me in the darkness.
I remember having no fear for tomorrow. My kids trusted me, they believed I could do everything, and so I really could. Oh, the power which comes with someone's faith in you.