Ten Years.

by Elizabeth Lunsford

In tens years, I see someone else. Someone with the same name and face, but a different soul than mine.

I see a joyfully married woman, living in Portland or Seattle. Maybe even Pasadena. She might be in the early months of pregnancy or in the process of preparing that process. Either way, I see this woman sitting in her long passed grandmothers favorite chair. She is quietly reading a book about the first year of a babys life. She seems to be calm, collected, and focused. On the inside she is struggling. Scared to death. What do I do if it doesnt come out healthy? What it grows to hate me? Will I make the same mistakes my parents did? Will I become my mother? Will I become my father? Will Raine be a good parent? A better parent? Will it be twins? What if I grow to hate it? What if it grows up to become a horrible person? Am I fit to be a parent? Do I even deserve to have a child? Am I worthy of such a responsibility? Am I even able to have a child? What if I lose the baby? What if itdies?

She moans, maybe even cries. Its too much. The book is dropped to the floor in a huff of exhaustion. She stares into the fire, feeling foolish. Adoption is always an option, but it doesnt appeal to her as much as holding her own flesh and blood. She leans back on the chair and can still smell what tiny remnants are left of her grandmothers perfume. Tears silently roll down.You were suppose to be here for this. How am I suppose to do this without you?Eyes closed, she hears the door unlock and open. Because of she has the heart of a rabbit, terror shoots through her, but only for a split second. Her husband has come home. He walks in, sees the the shambles that is his wife and a book on the floor. He instantly knows what is happening. Its probably happened before. He picks her up and takes her to the couch, cuddles her, asks her how she could ever think any of those horrible things. He tells her nothing but the truth. You are going to be an amazing mother and we will raise an amazing child.The next day all worries are gone. Walking through the museum, she is making sure everything is in place and running over her script for the presentation History wraps its long and dusty arms around and engulfs her. Sanctuary. Truth. Life Lessons. Heroes and heroines to guide her, lift her up, give her wings, and protect her.Sacagawea shows her the ways of keeping a child warm through harsh winters. Joan of Arc teaches her the art of fighting and dying for what you believe and love. Theodore Roosevelt teaches the importance knowing when to punish and when to forgive, be it bear or child. Napoleons complex rubs off and shows her sometimes you do have to be an ass. Lincoln stands behind, hand on her shoulder, giving her support to obtain the freedom she wants for her family to live comfortably and without fear.

Her guardians close behind, she proudly marches to the front of the museum. She will impress the benefactors. She will get the donations to keep this place up and running. She will get the promotion and become curator. She will get her PhD. She will be the best damn mother this dying planet has ever seen.She will take those gifted wings and fly. She will soar. Empress of the Sky. Her throne at the top of the world, for all to see and never take away.

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