Girl Interrupted
"What do you want to eat when you come home?"
"I want a steak, and a baked potato. And salad with avacados and cranberries."
Cranberries?
Don't they feed you in Texas?
Apparently not. She's back, skinny and singing better than ever. She ate her steak and salad and then sang for her mother and me.
I was beat, dead tired, scary tired but it was sure nice to see her. We sat on the couch and listened, and I squeezed my wife's shoulder. "We made a singer," I said, and we did.
There's not a lot of pride, other than the parental stuff that passes for it. There's too much in here about genetics and environment to feel much in the way of responsibility, even for such a good thing. There's grace, for instance. And so on. But I love to listen to her.
And now the angst is gone, the moaning and grumbling that's gone on for the past couple of months in this space. No more dreams. No more dads and daughters.
No more giants.
I listened to her and thought of where we've been and where we are, and suddenly I had the answer. It's always been the answer, all my life, but sometimes I forget. I've been wallowing here, which is understandable but there's a limit. There's a limit to loss and grief and change, or else it overwhelms us and leads us down roads we really don't want to go. I'm better now.
No more giants.
I listened to my daughter sing for her father, and I got straightened out.
I want to make something else now.
10:02:36 AM 
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