She invites me into her home. I want to know more about the miniature moments that offer her meaning. The things that don’t translate to surveys or emails.
I take off my shoes at the door, leaving them alongside her sandals and sneakers.
She shows me the storybooks her daughter has memorized. Shares bedtime songs that she once sang, the bathroom floor where she and her husband reconnect with their daughter’s rubber ducks and bath crayons and baby shampoo bottles. Soon her daughter will outgrow tub time.
At the door my brain and notebook are full of observations and I hesitate as I put my shoes back on.
For I am standing on holy ground.
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Words: Bethany Stolle
Image: Jim Kast-Keat
Music: Dexter Britain
