"What's the point? Why do I even bother to turn off my alarm clock? Who would care if I took this bottle of sleeping pills and peacefully died in my sleep?" Jenny moved her red hair from covering her wet barely opened eyes. She felt so tired she couldn't sleep. Then she heard it. She heard the soft crying of her three and half month old girl, Denise. Using what little energy she had in her small body, she went to Denise's room, preparing for their routine. Jenny goes in. She comes to the crib and softly says, "It's ok sweet Denny. It's mommy." She either covers her daughter's cold body, or uncovers Denise's hot body, or feeds Denise's hungry body. Denise stops crying and eventually falls asleep, closing her little dazed blue eyes. Jenny caresses her daughter's fuzzy red hair and goes back to bed. This is how it went throughout the night for the past three and a half months.
But not tonight.
Jenny goes in, as usual. She softly says, "It's ok, sweet Denny. It's mommy." But after her usual word ritual, Jenny's sleepy eyes fully awaken and her mouth opens. Her tears of hopelessness turn to tears of deep loving understanding--Denise looks intently into her mother's eyes, and smiles. It is a smile of deep recognition and affection, of pure comfort and joy. Jenny knew it, though she couldn't prove it: Denise finally knew her mother. Not just her comforter from hunger or sweat or the shiver. Denny knew her mother.
This was Jenny's answer:
"What's the point? Why do I even bother to turn off my alarm clock? Who would care if I took this bottle of sleeping pills and peacefully died in my sleep?"
This was Jenny's answer:
"My relationship to my daughter is the point. Denny is why I should even bother to turn off my alarm clock. She would care if I took this bottle of sleeping pills and peacefully died in my sleep."
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