i desperately tried to recall her own soothing words from times past when i'd skinned knees or stubbed toes, times when she knew just the right thing to say. but in that moment of tearful plight, words of profundity abandoned me like a worn-out shoe.
"it's okay, mom," i stammered as i reached out and gently stroked her hair. "we didn't even need those cookies. there was plenty of stuff to eat. don't cry. it's all right. really.'
my words, as inadequate as they sounded to me, prompted my mother to sit up. she wiped her eyes, and a slight smile began to crease her tear-stained cheeks. i smiled back awkwardly, and she pulled me to her.
we didn't say another word. we just held each other in a long, silent embrace. when we came to the point where i would usually pull away, i decided that, this time, i could hold on, perhaps, just a little bit longer.