Seven tomorrow; just as all the rest have come, Six, Five, Four, Three, Two, the Questionable One.
The picture is from Six, of course, for who knows what Seven will bring, but I am assuming it will not bring Time to write this post, for it will be filled with friends, a pool, sisters and a ball park to watch Big A easily display the magic combination of youth and a softball glove.
Funny thing; Time, that in all my writing about it, it's still a mystery; a knot that the more I try to unravel the tighter it becomes; weaving within my chest a separate knot that leaves me forever caught between a smile and a tear.
I want her to grow; I want her to stay small. I want her to be aware. I want her to have no idea.
She's my enigma. How she can so simply know the deepest truths while still believing the most innocent of things?
"Well do you believe in Santa, Peanut? Who do you think you would know better if there's a Santa? You or some silly kids on the bus? Of course there are fairies, Little A; how else would those letters with Pixie Dust make their way under your pillows? Let's look at the pictures of the Fairy Villages!"
And Santa still lives here. The Tooth Fairy still lives here. Children grow faster, know more now. Will Little A's Seven become Big A's Eight? I don't remember who I was before I was their mother; who will I be when I am no longer the mother of children? Is that the knot ever-growing within my chest?
Six was magic. Six was the summer of Justin Verlander. Six was when the ability to memorize and recite stats began to come in handy rather than be a freakish anomaly.
Six was the first letter home from a teacher that read, "Jenn, I thought you would want to know that today Little A played with kids and wasn't alone at lunch." Six was reading entire chapter books under covers with flashlights carefully hidden so I wouldn't find them before she went to bed. Six was when she used her Magic to make the Tigers win multiple games in a row. Six was when she met someone that she gets to call "Dad" and got two new sisters.
Six was hard. Six meant explaining why Magic can make the Tigers make it to the playoffs and not to the World Series. Six meant explaining cancer. Repeatedly. Why some cancers can be cured; why some cancers cannot. Why Magic cannot cure cancer. Six meant explaining that yes, mommies and daddies die sometimes. Why Santa and Fairies cannot fix cancer. Six meant new medications and new therapies and new exhaustion when I didn't think there could be new ones.
I would keep Six, if I could. Which I cannot.
So tomorrow I am happy to greet Seven. I've heard that in Fairy lore Seven is the age when Fairy villages begin to appear to those that believe....
To Seven, Little A.
I love you more than love,