The hospice series – The vampire mother?

It’s dark outside. That’s a bad sign. There’s an annoying fly I just had to tend to. I sleep with Ta and her teddy bears, or in this case, don’t sleep. I take her in my arms often. She turns towards me almost in the same gesture she would use when a baby and seeking out the breast. She burrows her face into my chest, seems to find a spot right between the breasts and makes a small contented noise, corners of her lips moving up in a sleepy smile and then she goes back, deep into her easy world of sleep. I kiss her forehead and the side of her eyebrow, smell her hair and fill myself at the source, directly. There is no need to look elsewhere. Everything I need is there. The soft bed, the raft of my childhood carrying me out over the rocky waters. I protect and am protected. The sea is vast and menaces wide. Wilhelmina is here. She knows. Ta moves around a bit. It is hot and the air is heavy. The crickets are making a rhythmic noise; they remind of a light that would be steady if it were visible. I opened the windows in hopes of finding air, but the air won’t move. Air can be like that.

Am I a vampire like F says, not of me, but of others? Like those older men who take from young girls’ youth that which they have lost. Am I taking from Ta? If it were so, she would be depleted as I fill myself up. Yet she fills herself at my source. She turns her soft head into the pillow and floats away on my love. I see it. Could I be a vampire if it is so? Can taking only be taking? Can there not be a giving in the taking? I would not take if I felt I were taking away. There must be something more in love. I do not carry it away and hide it in a corner to use up later when I am lost and frightened. It is a flow back and forth.  At least I hope.


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