Back and Forth

A short story.

Back and forth, back and forth, my momma would pace as she rocked me to sleep. I was a tiny babe, come early, but boy, my lungs could wail. My momma shooshed and cooed and called me by my name. She whispered stories to me despite my tears and bounced me all the same.

Then, when I got older, she would push me on the swings. Back and forth, to and fro, higher momma, higher. She held my hand and kissed my injured knee.

Soon enough, I was a teenager, and patiently she remained there, driving me back and forth to play practice, choir competitions, and art shows. Never once did she complain about the driving. She saved that energy for criticizing the state of my bedroom.

I am older still, and the time has come for me. Back and forth I go to visit the nest I’ve flown far from. She misses having her little girl, and the emptiness bothers her, though she claims to be happy otherwise.

Today, the roles have fully changed. All those sleepless nights she rocked me, now come back as I do the same. Her mind is slipping, her body failing, and so I hold her, rock her, and wait with her till the end. I sing her songs, tell her stories, and whisper dirty jokes like they are special treats. All these sleepless nights are worth it to show her the care she once showed me.

It’s interesting how things circle around. Parent to child and child to parent. Back and forth, back and forth. Rocking gently, we carry on, pacing back and forth.

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I really don’t have much to say about this piece. Sorry.