Power

I was sitting outside, editing, when Zuri opened the door with a petrified look on her face.

“Mommy, Zahara burned herself.”

I dropped my computer on the chair and ran behind my daughter into the kitchen. 

The stove was still on and a funky-looking funnel cake was burning in the pot. An orange top from the bottle used as a funnel was in the hot oil, the bottle was on the floor and so were splashes of batter. Zahara was crying, holding her hands and trying to tell me where she got burned. 

Markolee searched, “What to do with hot oil burn? 

 “Run cool water over the burn for ten minutes,” Google says.

And so, we stood with Zahara over the sink.  We watched as water flowed from the pipe onto her hands and tears fell down her face. 

I got the ointment and towel and moved our medic operation to the couch. We sandwiched the wounded:  Zuri sat on Zahara’s right, I sat on her left.  Zuri held an ice pack under Zahara’s eyes, and I gently applied the ointment onto the burn.

Zuri’s face changed from petrified to sorrow, and when I asked how she was doing, she said, ” I feel powerless, Mommy.” 

I understood what she felt. But I also understood the following and told her so.  

“Power is in moving. It was running to get me.

“Power is in helping. It was getting the ice pack for your sister’s face and holding it there.

“Power is showing up.  Power is sitting here, being present in the pain.”

Let US sit in the pain and help each other heal. 

♥
Kadine Christie