I wanted to throw myself over him, just to protect him, to keep him from their impersonality, their harshness. He seems so frail so suddenly, it frightens me most just when I need a pillar of strength. I should be grateful that in my maternal panic I find myself, but I wish he weren�t so exposed.
I hope they like the notes and the cookies. I wonder if they know those are my favorite stickers in the whole wide world. It was the least I could do, I should have done more. I hope they know what I was trying to say, even if the notes aren�t that good.
I miss the Wildlife Rescue. I miss work that exhausted my whole body and soul, I miss giving to something like that, something completely receptive to my giving that wasn�t asking but begging. I miss that control and that connection and that pouring of myself. People can�t take you like that, they can�t be expected to accept a pouring of your soul into them, they can�t ask for it, it would be wrong. To do it to people would be wrong, it wouldn�t be the quiet transaction it is with raccoons or squirrels. It would be something awkward and noisy and painful. Or, maybe that�s what babies are like � like fawns and raccoon kits. Maybe that�s how mothers survive, it�s the same kind of cleansing soul pouring.
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