Hush little baby don’t you cry
Do you remember, momma? You would sing a lullaby to calm me down. I loved this lullaby—I lived for it. Even when I was crying because I was in trouble, I would refuse to stop until you sang to me. I wanted—needed—the reminder that you still loved me, and that you could forgive me. No matter how mad you were in the moment, you would always indulge me.
And now here I am, sitting in my college apartment, homesick for that song again.
Hush little baby don’t say a word
Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird
And if that mockingbird don’t sing
Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring
You were there to take care of me when I was injured. When I fell off a horse for the first time, you ran to me, immediately holding onto as much of me as you could grab. “Are you okay baby?” Yanking on the reins could not prevent my fall as the horse galloped away, but I was okay because you were there. With my helmet visor broken and my confidence shaken, you picked up the pieces of me that were littered across the road in my post-adrenaline state. I was more concerned with my broken helmet, but you paid it no mind as you brushed the hair from my face and dusted off my pants. I didn’t notice the scratches until your concern made them itch. When I got back on the saddle, you told me I was braver than you. You were still in shock, but you stayed by my side and never let your reassuring smile slip.
Years later, you sent me off to college with a personal first aid kit as your surrogate. When I cut myself shaving, I cringe at the blood dripping down my leg drip drip dripping against the drain. There is no “Are you okay, baby?” Instead, I sigh and repeat “just stay calm” as I clean the wound and hide it behind a Band-Aid. A small piece of fabric may stop the blood, but it doesn’t stop the fact that I was hurt, and you are not here. What can a Band-Aid do against the emotional wound of your absence gaping and oozing? When I fall, I have to piece myself together on my own.
And if that diamond ring is brass
Mama’s gonna buy you a looking glass
And if that looking glass gets broke
Mama’s gonna buy you a billy goat
Sometimes as a kid, I would have dreams that you left me all alone. I would wake, heart pounding and teary eyed, needing you. No matter the time of night or the fact that I kicked in my sleep, you would open up the cavern next to your body and wrap me in the warmth and weight of you. We clicked into place like two puzzle pieces you finally realize go together, my edges blurring into yours; the full picture finally beginning to make sense. Age didn’t stop these nightmares, and you always welcomed me back to that soft hiding place.
But where can I hide now when over sixty miles separate us? My pounding heart and tears are the only parts that remain in this dark room. Dreams and nightmares are so much scarier when I cannot brush them away with your presence. How do I know that you are alive and well when there is only empty space beside me? A space that reminds me my edges are jagged and frayed when it’s you who is my missing piece.
And if that billy goat won’t pull
Mama’s gonna buy you a cart and bull
And if that cart and bull turn over
Mama’s gonna buy you a dog named Rover
I loved when you would braid my hair. Fresh out of the shower, I sat on a pillow on the floor while you sat behind me. Tucked into the safe space between your legs, I would sit as still as possible while you pulled the brush through my hair. Sparks flowed from the brush through my body, spreading to reach, touch, comfort every cell, until I was filled to the brim.
Then, you would begin the braids. Weaving in and out, stitching me together layer by layer. Pulling my pieces tighter until I was safe and secure. As soon as you began to brush, I knew you would tell me I had to return the favor. I took up the brush, but my small fingers did not know how to weave the same shapes. Twisting the pieces of your hair and letting them unravel under my unskilled hand. I could not stitch you together and make you safe. Still, you took what I could give you.
I could not braid your hair then, and I cannot braid my own now. I can never grab every piece to put together, with more and more pieces falling out. Slipping through my fingers, leaving me no choice but to let everything unravel. Unraveled. Insecure. Alone. So, my hair is almost always down. My pitiful attempts over the years were enough to dissuade me from trying again, so I have abandoned the brush and any hope of being self-reliant. I am left to wonder why I never asked you to teach me.
And if that dog named Rover won’t bark
Mama’s gonna buy you a horse and cart
If that horse and cart fall down
You’ll still be the sweetest little baby in town
I know there will be more memories I miss as I continue to grow and life takes me further from you. I will always be homesick for you because without you, I am not whole. I can never find and put together the pieces of myself without your guiding hand. My wounds, my edges, my pieces—gaping, jagged, unraveled. What’s mine is yours. What’s yours is mine. What’s ours is love.
I love you, momma, and love will always have me coming back to you.
