*

There are a handful of pictures of us together. Our faces side by side, touching. My face smiling, or serious. She always looks so happy, snuggled in close. Soaking me in.

*

That’s when I was her Daddy.

*

Since turning forty I have been learning the art of accomodation. Really I am only getting the introductory course. Accomodation 101, freshman disappointment. I remember when she turned two and her mom and I used to miss that little fat baby she’d been. But we had that brilliant, vivid two year old and that almost wiped out the memory of the baby that came first. The same when she turned five, or seven, or nine. Eleven. Thirteen.

But this year its like some great tall-masted ship that’s slipped her moorings and gone to sea in the middle of the night.

I’m standing on the end of the dock, a frayed line in my hand, bewildered, staring at the empty horizon.

*

She’s going to be an incredible woman.

Just not soon enough for her.

*

Sometimes I just bust out sobbing for no reason at all.

*

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