Carry You In The Rain

Your toe broke through the sole of your shoe. I didn’t want you stepping on the cold, wet ground. I put you on my back – my boy almost seven – and had trouble walking. With a friend of mine, we peeped into some run-down restaurants for a new shoe. Leaving the row of shops, we stood on a threshold under the eaves, facing the pavement. I cradled you.

I would carry you in the rain.

You grew a few years smaller in my arms. As I asked my friend to cover your face with your blue jacket, you slipped into bed with me, pulling me out into the fresh, dry morning. The first thing you asked was what I’d dreamt.

Last week you mused, “I wonder what’s inside the sun, Umma. I want to see.” You expressed this so imploringly. Should I not have told you that you will burn? Should I have left you to dream impossible dreams? Did I kill your wondering?

The other day you took car tracks bereft of car and remote, and turned them into a runway for your plane. The delight on your face when that plane took off. And Daddy and I had wanted to get rid of the tracks. You blow me away. Life blows you away.

I forget why I keep you close. To free you to stand on your slab of questions and ingenuity, ready to run into the sun. I know that this side of dreams, there’ll be no carrying you in the rain.




103 thoughts on “Carry You In The Rain

    • You know what, Kate? It’s so…good and helpful hearing back from you all. Because I hardly think it’ll excite an O My when I click publish.


      Thanks so much for stickin’ around.


  1. I remember as a small child the wonders of simple life discoveries. The bees gathering pollen, the ants in their formations and nests, birds eating insects in flight, the growth of seedlings in a garden. These were wonders to be explained. My favourite toys were ones I’d made myself, a matchbox being pulled along roads hastily constructed in the path of a beetle pulling my matchbox wagon. All simple pleasures. I think this age of electronic gimmick toys spoils all that.

    • Yep. We are very much into handmade, self-made toys and entertainment. They are a learning unto their own. My son’s among a slim minority (perhaps of one!) among peers who’ve grown up with e-devices from the most tender age. You know I did a series on the impact of technology on learning – which ended up as a magz article last fall.

  2. Soft and very soothing…how tender and gentle was the voice i heard through the love in your words. Someone asked tonight why my youngest daughter is so close to me…i replied when my wife was at work I always thought of my mothers tenderness I never lived without…and I wanted my daughter to know that same sweet blessing my mother gave to me every day! Awesome my dear sister…simply awesome! Spiritual hugs, love, and blessings to you always!

    • Thanks, WB. I enjoyed the glimpse into your family and your caretaking for your girl. I would expect nothing less than that gentleness from me. I – on the other hand – sigh…I am a tiger mom yet to be tamed in many ways.

  3. Tender. Poetic. Beautiful. I read your post and thought of the many tough decisions I’ve taken. Decisions I doubted as I stood in the rain with no one to cradle me. Reading this, I remember why I made those choices, and I find strength to live with them. Thanks for sharing Diana.

    • GAh! More chills! Wow. Thanks for sharing such a significant part of your journeying, Timi. Yes, I’ve explored from a number of angles here the truth that we need to lean into resistance to get stronger. I love how you got something so important from a piece I wrote as a mother. No matter what I write, I strive to offer something relevant to all – though I may not always succeed.


    • That is really interesting, J [Atmpltn]. I guess you’ll find it somewhat funny that I didn’t consider it among my very best, though I’d never offer you guys a slap job. There is the whole matter of resonance and the context from which the reader processes a piece of art, right? So I wonder if these thoughts tapped the deep places of your own mothering.

      Bear hug,

      • Yes, I think you’re spot on here. I’ve been dealing with issues of losing some precious things/people to time, so I’m sure I brought that to the table. Also, letting go of my daughter as she heads toward young adulthood. The days are long, but the years are short, as my late mother-in-law use to always say. But, I still very much like your post on its own merits! : )

      • Ha ha ha. You didn’t have to say “I still very much like your post on its own merits! : )” but thanks, J. I did feel some of my poetry from last yr was better than this, but that just goes to show…the power and reality of resonance. Thanks for sharing what burdens your heart. My boy turns seven in about a week WaaaHHHHHH. *So sad* while I’m aware I should be thankful, with a lot of kids who have disabilities and don’t develop normally.


  4. Lovely.
    Sometimes the 5 year old asks if he can ask Siri questions on my iphone. It’s always stuff like “Where do dragons sleep?” Siri never has a good answer for his questions. Haha

  5. Wonderful and sentimental. It brought images in my head, some of which I experienced as a child myself. Sometimes, I still want to do those things. Once I have my children (which is veeeery near), I will try to experience these things and learn and grow with them.

  6. I find that my children and now my grandchildren are the closest way for me to reconnect to the child that is still inside of me and still wants to play. Great post.

    • Hmmm. Very interesting. Familiar with RC planes? Remote control (speaking of the post!). My husband has really gotten into it. I had no idea they have clubs for men who get a certif or license to fly those. Enjoying the planes with his son has been a great excuse for him to satisfy something he woulda loved to do as a kid who had little opportunity for anything. He’ll sneak off in the morning to fly it by himself while we’re still asleep.

  7. Beautiful, and touching. Makes me want to get in my car and race home so that I can swoop my little guy up into my arms. The words we write will never truly carry the joy of being a parent – but every so often someone gets awfully close – sometimes more than once. You’ve done it again! Pinged my heart – almost as if I am sitting with my little one watching take life on. Wonderful read, and just what I needed to get me through the rest of the day. Thank you for posting!

    • =) It really satisfies like nothing less to hear as a writer that we “made you want to –“, right? I cherish every word, Dom. Thanks so much for the generous, clear feedback.


  8. Can I thank you for the early mother’s day present this was for me? Really stunning. I got so quiet inside my head as I read. I really needed that. You gave me a gift, but you still have a huge gift. A gift with words.

    • You’ve just been awEsome. I appreciate the ongoing support. Am glad this spoke to you. That you got so quiet inside your head is beautiful (but I’m tempted to tease or spit a wisecrack, given your personality and the spout of words you are LOL).


  9. Just like making imaginary friends, or believing in the tooth fairy and Santa; Looking for the end of the rainbow or trying to catch a fallen star. Life’s intrigue and beauty is truly captured by our children’s hearts. Sometimes I think that’s the only reason this world is still alive.

  10. “I didn’t want you stepping on the cold, wet ground. I put you on my back – my boy almost seven – and had trouble walking.”

    Beautifully crafted Diana. This sentence conveys so much. Please forgive me yet again for playing my usual role of devil’s advocate, but a mother’s love is a two-edged sword. What exactly was wrong with teaching your son that such mishaps as a broken shoe are to be endured silently and with fortitude? A mother’s love can support one through life but can also drown a young man over time with overbearing solicitude. It’s a fine balance not easily found.

    • Nothing wrong with it. Often much right with it. I wasn’t saying I was right in being so protective, esp as just about anything goes in a dream. =) In fact, I almost added a line, something like how I ought to let him feel his shoe collecting water. Just thought that was overstating. The piece as a whole is a movement toward your question and, as a minimalist in the writing, I thought the conclusion (the last line in particular) said it all:

      “forget why I keep you close, teach you at home. To free you to stand on your slab of questions and ingenuity, ready to run into the sun. I know that this side of dreams, there’ll be no carrying you in the rain.”

      You’re no devil’s advocate, MG. You’re the devil himself in a suit LOL! I can just hear all those questions you poked your teachers with in school.

  11. The kind of post that makes you stop what you’re doing after reading it… and simply smile at its beauty, truth, and the obvious love of a mother for a son…

    Glorious, D., absolutely glorious…

  12. Greatings and much happyness to you and your Son Diana. Thanks for looking at my post The Peace Express. I’ll be comming back for more of your wisdom.

  13. Pingback: Carry You In The Rain – ReBirth: The Pursuit of Porsha

  14. I don’t know how I missed this one. So beautiful. Makes me think when my grandson was that age and what a special time it is. He’s fifteen now and on different adventures that include only his friends.

  15. Nice blog, I’m just now getting around to other blogs I thought tonight would be a good chance to check out the others who like my blogs. I’ll be back again. Very nice work. I like it. God bless

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