I’m sitting at the airport right now waiting for my daughter’s plane to take off. She’s traveling as an unaccompanied minor to her father’s house for a few weeks. When her name was called to board early, I attempted a hug and a kiss but she was embarrassed (she’s a tween, it makes sense). She promised though, that when it was time to say goodbye she would give me a hug and even a kiss on the cheek! Music to this mom’s ears, who remembers when she used to meld to my body in giant cuddle hugs, whether in public or not.

After getting on the plane, she sent me the following text:

“I miss you already, I feel like crying but I shall not”.

Oh my sweet one and only, biological child at least. I love her more than I can possibly express, and that deep, abiding love for her is hardly a wound. The constant wound is the vulnerability I feel for her, but it’s also what keeps me moving every day. I don’t want it to ever heal.

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