... no need to let that go too.

I sat quietly with the old woman today

while she told her stories of love and loss.

She told me of war, of how it had claimed her first born son.

It had been a long, long time since she cradled him,

crooned and cuddled him.

She could fix anything then,

every tear, every pain, every fear dissolved with her very presence.

As she inhaled deeply she spoke of the warm scent of her new born boy;

his softness, his need, his love.

I could see in her misty eye that she still felt where his warmth had been so very long ago.

She told me she can still feel that first flutter in her belly and hiccup at her breast.

It's a private bliss, hers to recall forever.

She'll keep that fragment, there's no need to let that go too.