Pick me up

Image result for hummingbird pictures

One of my oldest and most painful childhood memories is from when I was no more than 3 years old

I was known for having nasty tantrums in which I would throw my body backwards on the ground and slam my head, not caring where I was or how hard I did it

I don’t remember why I was crying or how long I had been, but I do remember at one point it changed from crying because I didn’t get my way to crying for attention

As I laid wailing on the kitchen floor, my mom approached me and for a second I thought she would pick me up and end my agony

Instead she stepped over me to get to something in the kitchen

Something inside me died when she did that

My crying turned into sniffles and I stayed laying lethargically on the floor

I had given up

I laid there until my father came home from work and finally he picked me up

The damage had been done, though

Fast forward to yesterday morning

I was hurt with Mr. Artist and it made me feel very sad

The floor was calling to me, saying how comforting it would be to lay down on it, just like I did when I was small

So I sat on the floor and laid on my back, knees bent, and sobbed

Something about the way I felt reminded me of that memory all those years ago

I remembered the feeling as a little girl of just wanting to be picked up, no longer caring whether I got my way or not

I just wanted to be comforted

As my adult body was laying on the floor in the present, I thought to myself how I wished someone other than Valentine would join me on it

And my next thought was, “I wish someone would come and just pick me up”

But I knew I couldn’t rely on anyone to do that, so I was going to have to do it myself, as I’ve grown accustomed to doing

Right then my phone rang

It was Mr. Artist

He had been apologizing via text and I had stopped responding while I was on the floor

“Are you mad at me?”

“No, not mad,” I said, “Just hurt”

“Are you crying?”

Long pause

Sniff

“Yes”

“I’m sorry honey. Is there anything I can do?”

Pause. I couldn’t think of anything

“I don’t know”

“Do you want to see me?”

Another long pause. Part of me did and part of me didn’t

“I don’t know”

“Do you want me to let you go?”

Very long pause. I didn’t want him to stop talking but I didn’t necessarily want him to stay on the phone

“I’m not sure”

“I’m coming over.”

“Okay”

Twenty minutes later, I was off of the floor and sitting next to him on the sofa

He sat with me in silence as we held hands

Then I started to talk

I told him about how hurt I was over the last evening

He listened

He apologized, explained, and apologized more

I talked and explained my perspective

I cried

He cried

We held each other and kissed

We talked more

We cried again

We sat in silence

It was amazing

And then I shared with him how every time we have a misunderstanding, I pray and ask God for guidance

I told Mr. Artist that every single time, he ends up calling or texting me just after I’ve prayed and then I see a hummingbird outside and things end up working out

I explained, “It’s like my prayer has been answered when that happens”

Then I told him about my childhood memory and how I was laying on the floor thinking how I wished someone would join me there and then pick me up

I was trying not to cry as I talked but was failing miserably

I said, “That’s when you called me. And it was like you were joining me on the floor.”

I took a deep breath and said, “And when you said you were coming over…”

My voice started cracking

“It felt like you had picked me up.”

That’s when I lost it

I sobbed like a child

He took me into his arms and held me while I cried and cried

As I let it out, I felt something starting to heal inside of me

I was crying because it hurt but I was mostly crying because he gave me what I had needed all those years ago

Someone to pick me up

In the background, I swear on my life, I heard hummingbirds chirping

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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About samlobos

I am an avid fan of creating narratives in my head about random experiences and quotes for future books I will probably not write. I harbor a 15 year old girl in my psyche and like to solve world issues when I'm half asleep. View all posts by samlobos

18 responses to “Pick me up

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