I looked down from where I was standing at the kitchen sink…
The washing machine had moved forward out of its neatly stored place during its last cycle… At an angle with toast crumbs on its top.
I’d been here many times before.
My usual go to, without stopping to pause, was to ‘huff and puff’ and silently curse whilst attempting to push its heavy weight back into place…
Then further frustration on realising that I’d forgotten to wipe its top… I’d then wedge my hand under the counter in an attempt to swipe away as much debris as I could…
This time, however, as I looked down… This was different… There was a seeing of the machines wonky positioning, of the crumbs…
As if in slow motion, my hand moved…
What had been years of perfectionism, of an attempt to micromanage my world, fell to the ground in one swoop along with the crumbs in this moment…
An aliveness to each detail as if the world had turned HD.
Yet it was always ‘this’. Of course!
‘This’ was part of the dream that I had so innocently and neurotically taken seriously.
The washing machine out of its original place, the crumbs on its white top… sheer perfection in this play of life.
Feet now moving. I headed toward the stairs, to my sons room, knocking, door opening.
I held out my arms, he moved in to meet me… My hand on his head, gently pulling him closer… breathing him in.
Heart wide.
Teenager and mum.
Often clashing.
Now remembered. As One.
~
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