The Shoemaker's Daughter. A memoir of days, both past and present, by Rhonda Mason.

Friday night.

I am in Bear’s room.

We are sitting on the armchair by the window.

The blinds are pulled closed, and it is black outside.

We are sitting in the dark.

Bear is drinking his milk, and I am holding him.

Outside, cars keep driving by.

It’s been a hot day, but a cool breeze is finally filtering in through the window.

He finishes drinking and hands me the bottle. I place it on his dresser and give him his dummy.

I put my head back and drift off to sleep.

Many moments later, I surface, and I can hear Bear chatting to himself.

“Bear, Bear,” he seems to be saying.

I am spellbound. I try to encourage him to say more words, but he falls silent.

Perhaps he only speaks when he knows I’m not listening. Cheeky little monkey.

We exchange kisses. I tell him I love him. I lower him into his cot.

“Goodnight, Bear.”

I walk out, and I exhale…

  • Tori said:

    Could you imagine? A whole little world of his own in which he spends time listening to his own voice - sounds pretty magical <3

    • Rhonda Mason said:

      I know. It was truly a beautiful moment for me. Magical, like you say.
      Ronnie xo

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