daughters I love....mine & others

 

pulling into rocky mount, michelle text "mom, I'm home alone tonight. keep hearing things. don't like this. I'm scared".

we begin our free text-to-text dialogue.  i reassuring her.  She calming.  i call.  we talk.  i realize she has adopted my butcher knife mentality.  she doesn't own a gun. she says she called me because she knew i would not think her crazy, because i never liked being alone at night.  she reminds me when she was little and i heard the rustling leaves, she almost instantaneously heard the silverware drawer (oh, the fears of single motherhood). 

i still embrace these actions embarrassingly, i admit.  When i feel the need arises and i am home alone at night, i go for the cutlery.  Even though at work with a annie oakly-type secretary (complementary statement, wish i had more of that in me) and a comedic boss (bravo) that assures me, if anyone gets close enough for me to use my Pinzon Wenger, well,  i'm a gonner.  I gulp.  Anyway, i talk michelle up and we chat.  i tell her how my daughters are so unique.  she says she wants a gun and lessons on how to use it.  i tell her to take a gun safety course and keep it locked away .  she sincerely "uh-huhs" my suggestions.  then i tell her how sarah and hubby own a Glock and how Sarah made the comment "in this crazy world it's crazy not to have one".  i tell her brit keeps pepper spray close, when she feels the need for protection, because she hates guns and smoke  & loves invisible children.  i tell her i'm not sure of heather's thoughts on gun ownership v. control, but i would imagine she says "freedom to choose" and "don't worry be happy".  Michelle begins to laugh.  Our voices go to lighter funner things. We vow our love and hang up. 

But I feel sad that she is home alone.  I feel equally as sad that I do not know and there's so little I do know of the daughter I speak of whenever I speak of my daughters, that I feel I've tried to pry my way into her life, in some mother-form.  so I settle in for friendship, occasional laughter & nightly prayers.  And I do not and would not complain, because it makes me so very happy to be her friend.  I accept it gladly.  I cherish it.  Sometimes you just gotta go where you belong and be thankful for the spot carved out for you.  Because if the person takes the time to carve that spot, be fortunate the dweller.  She may not own or desire a gun, I do not know.  However, I have no doubt that if anyone threatened the loves around her life -- well, she'd make Mr. Heston look like a sissy.  and I suppose that's enough to know on gun control....and cutlery.