She’s too heavy and your little arms…

Here’s a short unedited bit from the book I am writing. I’d love to read your comments.

You can’t stop the night. That’s why it hurts me to know that you are facing a similar night season. I don’t know if I ever asked God to protect future generations from the same flavor of yucky hurt that my sisters and I endured. I know that my soul cried out for just that. I know that this, was part my unspoken prayers that flow from my heart to the ears of my God. The prayers that I could not have known to pray but surely my soul begged God for the avoidance of this moment. Surely the little warrior princess that I was… arrested by worry, sick with grief, shocked by abandonment. Thoughts that one of the regents of my household would return, because like you my little one, I was not ready. My tiny hands had not matured to the point where I could fight adult wars. My arms ached as I held up the weight of the infant body they embraced. Your mother, fragile, clueless, vulnerable. I was a baby carrying a baby.

When you pick up your little sister, I think the same. She’s too heavy and your little arms…