The weekend had been painful; mostly self-inflicted. The therapy session had been helpful, but I managed to turn it into another tool of self-torture.
I walked in to her place, gave her a hug and a kiss onna cheek like I always do. And like always, I started to pull away. But she didn't let go of the hug. If anything she held me closer, held me tighter. Surprised, I sank further into her arms and started to choke up. I started to have those little pre-sobs. Somehow, for no good reason I could think of, I managed not to cry. Eventually [much too soon] we broke the embrace and moved on to more mundane things.
When the [too short] evening was over, we started our good byes. Another hug and a kiss onna cheek like we do. And again, she doesn't let me break off. She holds me tight. And again I start to cry on her shoulder. When we finally let go, I said, "I am a lucky woman!"
And she replied, "So am I!"
I love my daughter and will forever thank Poppa for her warm, loving presence in my life.
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