the imaginative cure

The girls are missing their mother who is in Texas with hers.

In the midst of ritual bedtime snuggles the other night,
our oldest said, “Last night after you had snuggles,
I was waiting for Mommy to come have snuggles.
She didn’t come.
I thought about going into my sister’s room
because Mommy sometimes falls asleep in there, you know?”
“Yes, I know.”
She went on, “Then I thought, ‘Oh, she’s not here.’”

There was a pause,

“I’m going to imagine that Mommy had to work late tonight and isn’t back yet.
And tomorrow morning, I’ll imagine that she’s already gone into work—early.
And after school, I’ll imagine that she had to work late again.
And Saturday, when we’re here, I’ll imagine that she’s at the gym,
and when we’re at soccer, I’ll imagine that she’s at home baking bread.
You get the picture?”
“Yes, I get the picture.”
“The imagination is a good cure.”

Yes, it is—a very good cure.
And the imagination informed by love even better!

But even so, as imaginative as we are,
it’s still as if we see now through a glass dimly
until she gets home and we’ll again see face to face.

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