My first memory in my entire life is of my mom handing me a rainbow crochet bunny. My rabbit had an embroidered pink nose and beaded button eyes. She was stripey and decorated with all of the colors of the rainbow. My bunny lost an eye and her right ear has a tear. Her rainbow is dulled and worn, her once fluffy tail is ratty and tangled, and her stitches are frayed and loose. I think I loved my bunny before I even understood the concept of love because my bunny came from my mother, the woman I would take a shower of bullets for. My mom has lived halfway across the country ever since I moved with my husband. I miss when my mom was a few steps away, not a thousand miles. 

My husband is the true love of my life. I don’t blame him for us having to move in the slightest. We moved two months ago as his job is demanding and being closer to headquarters makes his job easier. I’m just a little sad that my mother has to stay behind in my hometown to take care of my younger sisters. I wouldn’t trade anything to be with my husband, however, I still sometimes look at my little rainbow bunny and wonder if I would be happier back home. 

I stand up from my desk, at which I had been sitting for an hour just missing my mom. I wander to my closet and fumble with my safe until it clicks open.  It contains all of my most valuable belongings: my birth certificate, passport, emergency cash, sensitive documents, and my rainbow bunny. I pull her out and breathe her old scent in, filling my lungs with nostalgia and then feeling them clench inwards with sadness. Memories of my mom and I rush back, flooding my senses with an overpowering feeling of guilt for leaving my mother behind. 

I quickly shove my bunny back into the safe, wishing away the giant lump it put in my throat. I’ve done everything I can to act ecstatic in front of my husband. If he knows I miss home, he’ll be just as depressed as I am. After all, my baby daughter needs a father and we will do everything to make sure she lives a comfortable life.

 I gave birth to Cecilia a month ago after a long, hard pregnancy. I love her with all my heart, but I despise not having my mother here to help. I walk over to my cooing baby and pick her up, watching in awe as she scrunches up in her classic newborn scrunch. I snuggle her, breathing in the scent of an innocent newborn and pushing away the worn smell of my bunny. Her little eyes light up at the sound of my voice. Her rosy cheeks are full and lush, she’s the most amazing baby. My husband walks in and takes the baby as tears well up in my eyes.

“Honey, what’s wrong? Is Cece okay?” he asks tenderly. 

I push away the question and tell him I’m perfectly fine. I tell him I’m just processing the emotions I have been through in the past year of pregnancy. Truly, my heart aches for my old life, my childhood, and my little rainbow bunny. I nuzzle my head into my lovely husband and my Cece. I shut my eyes tightly to push away any sorrowful thoughts at a time when I should be nothing but joyous. 

“Oh, love! A letter from your mom came. She never could get over snail mail,” he chuckled. 

He hands me a letter and I immediately feel less downcast. I rip open the small pink envelope and pull out a handwritten note. The sight of my mother’s gorgeous looping cursive takes away a little of the pain of missing her. The letter smells of home. 

“Oh Lillia, not a day goes by that I don't miss you dearly. Your sisters never stop asking about you, we all love you very much. How is Cece doing? I think I have an idea that will make me feel better about you being so far away. Remember your rainbow rabbit? Would you please send her to me? I know she’s a little raggedy, but that’s okay. I love you forever. Sincerely, momma,” my mother writes. 

One teardrop, or perhaps a couple, stains my cheek. My husband runs his hand calmingly through my hair. I suppose he knows me too well to think I wouldn’t be homesick at all. I tuck the letter into my cardigan pocket and hurry over to my safe, unlocking it in a rush. I retrieve my bunny and swiftly pack her into a box leftover from our move. Whatever plans I had for today go out the window as I run to my car and drive to the post office, officially sending off my bunny to see my mom once more. A few weeks go by and I get a few texts from my mom, nothing about my bunny.

 One day when the fog is high and the sunrise shines through the mist, I hear the doorbell ring, almost like a trumpet sounds after a victory in a battle. I rush to my door, as I’ve been doing every time I hear it ring for the last few weeks, hoping I get something from my mom. This time, the same box I sent my bunny to her in is covered with pink tape and decorated hearts. I rip open the box to see the rainbow bunny. 

Her eyes which were once loose and dull are sewn tightly and perfectly shiny, she even has both now.  Her nose is re-embroidered and a fresh blush pink. Her ear tear is masterfully mended and not raggedy in the slightest. Her tail is fluffed and new. Her formerly faded colors are bright and happy. The dirt that once plagued each thread is entirely nonexistent. I look at my bunny and a huge smile spreads uncontrollably about my face. I adore my mother and the bunny, but this

just can’t be mine. 

I’m tired and worn down, but have lived a happy existence for thirty-five years. I have the life experience, the dull blush, the missing eye. I’m my old bunny, no shame in it. However, I look at this fresh-faced rabbit with nothing but love. This rabbit isn’t me, it’s Cece. She has the bright eyes, the colors, the clean face. I smile at “my” bunny one more time before I tuck my beautiful daughter in with her bunny. I look happily upon the changes my life has taken and send a picture of the magical scene in front of me to my mother, who no longer seems so far away.