Days like this one are what gives November a bad name. Seriously.
Phone calls, mails, the cranes heading south all day in their large v-shape formations, the news.
That hollow feeling in my chest because I miss my child too much today. My grown-up woman child.
Sometimes I think I was a good mother. She tells me so, often. I know R has been a great father, I watched him, I learned from him. It was like playing house, we walked into this without a plan, no school of thought, no rules, our confidence so brash it echoed off the walls.
Just show her the tools, teach her how to use them, love her, praise her, cherish her always, roll out the carpet of trust wherever she goes and let her go, watch her being authentic, always generous, curious, independent.
And now I find myself studying her face on skype, counting the freckles on her forehead, quite unable to comprehend. Where has the time gone.