My dear, sweet sister declared in no uncertain terms that I need to explain the title of my blog. She is tired of giving people my blog information because it is such a strange name to give a blog, and she wonders why I would have chosen such a thing.
She had strep throat and was rather grouchy.
I love you, dear, sweet sister.
And I owe everyone an explanation.
After my daughter died, my other daughter experienced a lot of internal emotions that she was not able to express in words. One way she verbalized the anxiety going on inside of her was by saying there were lots of mosquitos inside her. I thought that was a very accurate description of what she must have been feeling.
Since this is a blog for her, dealing with issues that could produce that same physical phenomenon (in her and me both), I kind of tweaked her metaphor by combining it with the age old saying "butterflies in my stomach" because I think anxiety is more like mosquitos than butterflies.
A while back, I wrote a dramatic monologue for a literature class I was taking, and I used as my subject her perspective in the death of her sister.
Here is the result:
A Girl and Her Sister
I holded my baby in my little blue rocky chair.
It’s okay baby, It’s okay baby.
I’ll give you some milk from my shirt.
Would you like a little tebby dare?
My baby is quiet now.
She shushed for a long time.
I don’t know what all the big people are doing.
Why do I have all these worries inside of me?
I think there’s some mosquitos inside me.
I haven’t seen my baby.
There’s the building with the pretty pictures in the window.
That’s where we left my baby.
I want to go get her.
Why don’t we just go get her back out of that building with the pretty pictures?
She’s not in that building anymore.
She’s down in the ground.
She's also up in heaven.
It’s a place you really like.
I don’t want to go there.
I want another little sister.
We can’t make a little sister.
Only God can make a little sister.
We can’t even make one out of paper.
Only heaven has that stuff.