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I'm 18 now, I thought. No more Christmas gifts for me. I got out the shower on Christmas day, dressed to visit Grandma and I saw a box on my bed which wasn’t there when I left, with a bow around it signed from Mom and Dad.
There was an egg inside. I had never dealt with an egg before. The responsibility, the honor was so enormous. I carried it with me everywhere, held it close to me at night, sung to it, played my harmonica to it, read stories to it.
And then one morning, the egg hatched in my arms, and you were born. From where there was nothing, a living, breathing, feeling creature now existed, was nuzzling my breast and looking into me, curious, fascinated, perhaps even afraid.
And we lived together, played together, learned together, slept together, grew stronger together. I hatched you, but you made yourself mine, you chose me to trust, to care for you, to protect you. And yet so often it's you who've cared for and protected me.
And now, you've transformed, and grown, just as I have. You look so different, and yet I hold you and feel that same warmth, look into your eyes and see that same soul, and that same love behind them.
I love you Quilava. Until the end, you will always be mine.
