Someday They Grow Up

There's a little voice in the house again. After 24 hours of quiet there are giggles and squeals, and confusing conversations. Tonight dad and daughter colored on the crapper for what felt like an hour. Then we started making a construction paper chain (that was outlandishly thrilling to Zed), and nearly forgot about dinner altogether. It was just what I needed. Now I can hear Zed and her Mom playing in the bedroom and I can get choked up if I think about it too much. Those two girls are, at times, inseparable.

Three years ago I had no comprehension how a child could crack your heart open like a lobster tail. They do. There's no explaining it. There was nothing before her and it feels as though there might be nothing after she goes. Our neighbor, Joe, has worked hard to raise his two daughters all by himself, and this past September he watched them both walk out the door for college. He did his best to hide his emotions while talking to June the week that they left, and I was happy that it wasn't me he had stumbled into. My mind would have flashed forward sixteen years and then the neighborhood would have witnessed two men crying like babies in their front yards. It would have been ugly.