“Mommy, can we go into the ocean now?”

I slowly stand and untie the sarong from my hips and gently toss my hair to shake out the sand.  This sends the little feet beside me dancing, anticipating the splashes to come.

The shock from the chilly sea jolts me back to reality.

I am actually in my living room, sitting in an armchair.  I must have dozed off momentarily while my daughter sleeps on the sofa.

My body sits still as my head continues to swirl.

It wasn’t really a dream.  It happened.

Six months ago in a warmer place, during a more carefree time.

When the only temperature that mattered was the atmosphere outside, and thermometers were rarely placed under a tongue.

Where living is done outdoors, and no age limit applies to getting drunk on the sun.

A time when sunshine fueled the energy of my child.

We are coming up to day 7 of sickness in our house.  My daughter’s fever continues to linger and is taking its sweet time to taper down.    This is the longest she has ever been ill, and I’m sure her hacking cough will persist for weeks.  I am keeping a close eye for any pneumonia-like symptoms.

Her pediatrician says she most likely has H1N1 (her official diagnosis today after dodging our calls all week).

We have been cooped up inside since last week Friday.  In that time, the temperature outside has dipped down and a new batch of leaves blanket our yard.

When we look out the window, the tree in our backyard is just about barren now.

Every leaf fallen, leaving an arbor ghost.

Each one gone, except one.

Despite the endless nausea, I do have flecks of memories from the trip.  Simple things a child would latch onto.  A red, Coca-Cola yo-yo my older brother swung up and down throughout the trip.  My knees weakening as I peered off a high-rise apartment balcony.   When I leaned my head forward, the occasional breeze from the passing cars below wisped my dark bangs away from my forehead.  I raised my arms slowly pretending I was a bird, hoping the wind would carry me gently and safely whichever way it blew.

I was almost 4-years old then, right around Babisodes’ age right now.  Only, she is fearless around ledges, and marvels at aircrafts in the sky.  This trip to Florida is her seventh time flying.

I’m hoping that this time, some glimmers of memories will stick.  Perhaps of her building castles in the sky,

…or in the sand with her mother.

Wishing you a Happy Mother’s Day.