Microchimerism, in a poetic style

I was recently intrigued by reading about microchimerism. I started reading more out of curiosity about understanding fetal brain development during pregnancy, and landed on a much more intense concept of microchimerism. It is a two-way process, and the cells from the child have been found in the brain cells of the mother decades later, especially in the prefrontal cortex. Research says these cells positively impact reducing Alzheimer's and Dementia. 

About Microchimerism
Microchimerism is a phenomenon in which a small number of cells from one individual live within the body of another, most commonly observed between a mother and her child during pregnancy. These shared cells can remain for decades, silently residing in various organs, even the heart and brain. While science explores this as a biological curiosity, many see something more profound: a tangible connection that continues long after birth and beyond death. The following piece reflects on that connection—a poetic meditation on love, memory, and the quiet science of never truly being apart.

On one side, I wanted to continue to read more about this, but on the other side, this also woke up the poet in me to pen/type my emotions:

Cells of Her Love

They say that when I was inside her,
a piece of me took root in her —
tiny cells drifting like silent messengers,
nestling into the folds of her heart,
perhaps even finding their way to her mind.
Science calls it microchimerism.
But I call it something else —
a beginning of forever.

And now,
In this aching quiet after her passing,
I wonder if the reverse is true.
If her cells still live in me,
Not just in the way I look or speak,
But quietly, I turn outward,
thinking of others before myself —
a gesture that was always hers.

When I cook now, I feel her hands in mine.
The rhythm of stirring,
The grace of seasoning with love,
The silence in the steam —
She’s there.
Every recipe is a prayer,
Every aroma is a reunion.

She was my guide —
not just through life’s choices,
But through the murkier places:
Sorrow, grace, forgiveness.
And in losing her, I realized
I hadn’t just lost a mother.
I’d lost a companion of the soul,
a friend woven into my spirit.

But if her cells once carried my beginnings,
Perhaps mine now carries her continuation.
Perhaps, somewhere in my body,
She still whispers, still watches,
still stirs kindness into my actions,
and strength into my spine.

Microchimerism, they say.
But I believe in something deeper:
A biological poetry —
The science of never being truly alone.

She lives on —
not only in memory,
But in marrow, in mind,
In the small everyday gestures
where love makes itself known again.

Thanks to her, for getting me to write again.