Life Worth Living
Do you remember that Studio Ghibli weekend where we both got sick?
You were first. Your cheeks were puffy red and your hair tangled itself into a nest on the top of your cute little head. All you wanted to do was curl into a ball on the couch, or on the floor among a hoard of blankets like world’s least intimidating dragon.
I kept a veritable kinescope of movies running, DVD after DVD of your comfort films. And brought you little hot drinks and soup. Which, at first, you didn’t want to eat, until I said, “Open your mouth and eat this,” rather firmly until you looked up at me with those big doe eyes. “If you don’t eat food from this world, you’ll disappear,” I finished the quote.
You took a sip of the soup, and I kissed your forehead. When you finished, I coaxed you off the floor and onto the couch among my arms. You were hot and cold at the same time, but you melted back into me.
“You’re going to get sick, too” you said.
And I just kissed you anyway. “If I’m going to get sick, I’m going to get sick. It’s not going to keep me away, especially when you need me most.”
“I’ll feel bad,” you said.
“Well, here’s a deal then. If I get sick, you can take care of me for a change, little girl.”
And that contented you.
It was a couple days later before I was the one sick. My throat was raspy and I didn’t want to talk … which you know for me is quite the oddity. I woke up with my hair askew, not even wanting to swallow. I am pretty sure I had lines from the pillow still impressioned onto my cheek.
You asked what you could do, and I said I was fine. But you reminded me “You said I could take care of you, if you got sick.”
And I smiled.
Later that day, after I had eaten some of the soup you had made, you asked how I was feeling and I quoted “I see no point in living, if I can’t be beautiful” rather dramatically. But then I smiled and pulled your head to my chest for a quick hug to show you I appreciated all the care.
But, it was like a light went off in your eyes. And you flitted into our room and to our closet and grabbed a robe. It was one I bought home from an estate … not because I ever really planned on wearing it, but just because it was beautiful. In fact, the only time I wore it was to one costume night we did … but …
There you were with it and a pair of slippers. And you said “Get up, sir.”
And you slipped the silky red and gold over my arms and placed the slippers at my feet.
Then you came back around front and looked up at me, expectantly. “How’s that?” you asked.
I brought you in for a hug and kissed your forehead. “Now, it’s worth living.”
I sat on the couch and you brought me some tea. “In the tea ceremony there is an idea that each time you have tea is unique. ‘one time, one-meeting’” you said.
And you gave me a cup and sat by my knee.
“One time, one meeting,” I said. “Among many to come.”
And we cuddled a good, long time.
“Do you need anything else?” You asked as it got closer to bed time.
“Yes, sweetie. Let’s go to bed. I could use one last comfort before the day is out.”
When we went to bed, I motioned for you to put your head on my shoulder where I could stroke your hair and kiss the top of your head. “I want to lay like this,” I said, as I grabbed your hand and ran it down my chest and stomach to my lap “with my arms around you while you give me that piece of comfort.”
And daddy held you close in the dark while you took care of him, knowing so long as you were close, with his lips on the top of your head, with his arm wrapped around you, with your hand tracing along his thighs, your fingers wrapping around him, your breath on his neck … that you could do no wrong in the comforts you offered.
And when finally, you brought it to conclusion, the two of you found rest in each other. In the healing of the ritual of skin against skin, of comfort given freely, and of lives worth living.