the losing

Julie asks us this week to talk about what we've lost. Perhaps prompted by the recent fires in California, pondering what it might mean to lose so much in one fell swoop - memories, pictures, homes. But as I thought about it I realized what most of us realize when musing on things like this - that it's not the stuff we lose, but the losing itself.

Of everything I've ever lost in my life, I miss my magic most of all. I watch M and her whole world is overblown with magical creatures and silly surprises and joy in the mundane and a great hearty chuckle in the backseat of the car everywhere we go. She has this magic and I must assume I had this magic once too.

Can you miss something you don't remember but only vaguely recall and pretend to emulate?

I do. I miss the magic in lollipops and the core assumption that everyone exists for my own good time. I miss being tucked in at night and rainbows dancing on the wall while I sleep.

I miss the freedom that rides on the back of magic. The freedom to see the world as an exploratorium, a confetti laden bonanza candy coated thrill ride. To laugh at buses careening by and to scream in joy at a big red fire truck. To make pretend tea with three sugars and then take my lamb's temperature. To feed pretend tea with three sugars to my lamb while taking my own temperature. Easy bake ovens with real cakes. Real. Cakes. And a simple cuddle can solve every single problem I have.

Ants wandering in a line. Dragons and caterpillars. The merest thought of ice cream.

I lost this magic, this utter precocious appreciation for every single color and every single thing. Rampant wild joyous magic. It's this loss I mourn the most. And I thank all that is holy that I have been graced with a daughter who is kind enough to show me the way back. Back to the magic, back to myself.