The Lovely Long Ago

As pretty as it is, this illustration instantly brought stinging tears to my eyes.  My daughter used to meet me at the door every night, our cat Buddy in her arms.  And surely you know by now that my daughter, my girl, my now grown-up compatriot, is to be married and will be leaving home.  It also seems quite possible that she will be moving to another time zone.  We are both trying to get use to that idea.

When she was six, I heard a country song on the radio one day.  I only recall one line of lyrics and that's plenty because the song is about a daughter leaving home.  "She'll take the picture in the hall", I think.  When my daughter was six, removing pictures from walls seemed far, far away.  Now, it is nigh upon us.

This week, a thousand echoes filled this house - memories in bits and pieces.  I even thought I smelled baby powder one morning and it nearly took my breath away.  A dear friend suggested I lean into my pain and so I did.  I cried.  And cried some more.

People are always telling me how wonderful my daughter is, how lovely and sweet she is, what a gifted teacher she is.  I don't feel I can take too much credit - I had excellent raw material.  She was born good.  And except for a brief period when she was four and I thought she might be possessed, she never gave me any trouble.

I'm done contemplating the lovely long ago, at least for now.  But I know I will be compelled to visit there again.  When I'm ready, I need only follow the whispering come-hither of baby powder.

My Girl