A Mother's Kisses Stick to You Forever

You know how it goes. You hold your sweet child's face in your hands, and you give them a kiss; the child promptly wipes the kiss away.  You kiss them again, and they wipe it off.  This could go on forever, but this doesn't happen in my house anymore, because I finally made up a rule.

Mother's kisses stick to you forever. Period. The end. There is no wiping them away, washing them off, or rubbing them into obscurity.  If a mother kisses you, it is eternal.  Sorry, sweet child, it's yours until the end of time.

I'm sitting here in a hospital room tonight with my very ill daughter.  All is quiet but the beeps and blips of the monitors.  After adjusting her IV lines, rearranging her pillows, and silencing the monitors, I kissed her on the forehead.  She slipped peacefully to sleep; the "mother's kiss" left right there on her sweet brown skin, invisible to the eye, yet fully visible to the heart.

I look out the window at the city sky-scape, and I am transported to the other side of the city, to the hospital where my mother lay, six years ago.  In her last days, another patient's family told us to never leave the room without kissing our mother goodbye.  Always kiss your mother goodbye. Always kiss your children goodnight.

My "mother's kiss", her invisible strength and eternal presence, carries me in her physical absence tonight.  These have been long and lonely days. I long for my mom to kiss me on the forehead, and for her to kiss my daughter on the forehead.

There is power in the unseen.  When I look at my children in a certain way, in a mother's way, I see the kisses I've left behind.  I see them all over their little faces, like how you see smudge marks on a window if the sun shines just right.   When I look in a mirror, I see my mother's kisses; they have now turned to fine wrinkles, creases, and varying tones of flesh.

I look across the room, and I see the resting form of my sleeping daughter, curled up under a purple butterfly blanket.  I look out across the night lights of the city, and I see memories of my mother, dancing in the stars.  The two of them never even met; yet they are joined with me in this hospital room tonight, through kisses, moments, and memories.

A mother's kiss is serious business.  A mother's kiss, inside the walls of a hospital room, while praying your heart out, is holy business.

With Love and  Kisses,
Sarah.