“Will you carry me to bed?” she asks.
“Of course,” I say. I set aside the laptop, and get up off my chair. “One, two, up,” I say as she leaps up into my arms. I hold her close, smell her hair, kiss her head.
“Wait a second,” I say as I realize something. “Weren’t you just in the bathroom brushing your teeth?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says sheepishly.
“And you came in here to ask me to carry you to bed?”
The bathroom where she was brushing her teeth is across the hall from her room. She was literally 15 steps from her bed when she finished rinsing. I was sitting in my chair, down the hall, in another room.This meant she walked an extra 40 feet or so to come get me to carry her to bed instead of just crawling in herself. I chuckle, and as I squeeze her through the door, she legs hits against the frame.
“I’m sorry sweety, are you okay?” I ask her as she falls into bed. I can tell it probably hurt, and I feel terrible that I banged her into the door. “I’m not sure I can carry you any more, you’re getting so big. You don’t fit through the door.”
Now she’s got her head buried in her pillow and she doesn’t respond as I go and get her little sister. I pick her up from in front of the sink, carry her to her lofted bed and gently toss her in. She giggles. Then I notice that her sister is still laying with her head in her pillow. I notice her shoulders shuddering. It’s the telltale sign of sobbing. Now I’m afraid that I really hurt her leg.
“Are you okay? Did I really hurt you?” I ask as I lower myself to her bed and place my hand on her back.
“My leg is fine,” she says through her tears.
“Then what’s the matter?”
“You said you can’t carry me any more.”
I carry my daughters a lot. I think they know that there is a rare occasion that I deny scooping them up into my arms. I know it’s a sure way to get a big hug, and usually more. “I’ll carry you, but I get tired, so you have to kiss my cheek to give me strength,” I tell them. In the morning, I’m a rickshaw as my sleepy daughter gets ready for school. Every morning I can judge how well she slept by how much I have to carry her. Sometimes it’s just from her bed to the bathroom. After some late bed times, it is to the bathroom, then back to her room, then to the kitchen before she can bring herself to use her own legs. I never mind. Like I said, it’s a great way to get some cheek kisses. My little one and I have a whole routine that is like our own secret handshake, except with ear lobes and noses.
As she sobs into her pillow I realize the mistake I made was not in being careless with her body. It was being careless with her heart.
“Oh sweetheart,” I say. “I can still carry you. Of course I can still carry you,” I say as I turn her over and scoop her into my arms. The tears slow.
“I’m sorry. I made a mistake. I should have said, ‘I have to be more careful with you,’ I just felt bad that I banged your leg into the door. Next time we’ll just have to go in sideways or something, okay?”
She smiles and nods and squeezes me a little tighter. I look her in the eye and say, “I will carry you for as long as I am able, and as long as you want me to. I promise.”
It is a sincere promise. I will carry her as long as I am able and as long as she wants. I know that eventually one of those things will come. Physically, there is sure to be a time when I cannot carry her. She will become a grown woman. I will become an old man. To be honest though, the ability to carry her is one of the reasons I workout. In our last house, the ability to carry them both up the stairs without getting winded was a highlight of my fitness level on par with finishing my first 5K.
I know that there will be a time when she may be physically small enough for me to carry her, but she will not want her Daddy to do such childish things any more. I seldom tell her to “grow up” in admonishment. I know that she will. There will be a time when I put out my arms, and count, “one, two, up,” and she won’t leap into my arms. There will never, however, be a time when I won’t be willing to try.
This is my promise. For as long as I am able, and for as long as you want me to; I will carry you.
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5 responses to “For as long as I am able, and for as long as you want me to”
That is the sweetest thing I’ve ever read.
I’m nearly 50 years old and I still remember being carried by my daddy. I know what it feels like to feel his whisked cheek scratching on my own as he hauled me and my little sister into our rooms at night. Thanks for reminding me. (A great Father’s Day story – I may have to revisit those memories in a few months) Thanks for sharing.
I thought of my own (2) kids (when they were little❤) while I was reading your story, For as Long as I am Able…
I found myself giggling, laughing out loud and sobbing uncontrollably! Your stories have that effect on me…as every good story should.
I’m not religious, but I do think I am spiritual. You have touched my heart and my soul in so many ways, & I sincerely thank you for that!😊
Fort Nelson, B.C, Canada
That’s very kind of you to take the time to tell me this. Thank you. You made my day.
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