was the 30th anniversary of my father’s passing. I didn’t realize the milestone until my sister T. had pointed it out. In my head, the years stopped passing at about fifteen. Most of the time, it seems like a year…or a month…a week…ago. My emotional point of departure always lingers there, I guess.

This snap was from a recent trip this summer, in which, as I’ve mentioned previously, the kiddo and I haunted a pair of old cemetaries. And in which the kiddo tossed some big questions at me. She was saddened to see the headstones of mothers and fathers. Probably scared for her own sake. She insisted that one pair needed some flowers, and plucked a few posies to lay upon their stones.

I believe our children come to us to teach us a thing or two about a thing or two. One of my minor complaints about parenting—occassionally—is the lack of alone time. I am a person who prefers the peace of solitude. Summer doesn’t allow for much of that. This child will not leave me alone. I like to think it’s something she’s teaching me. And I pray she never feels  alone, either.


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