I have been granted the privilege of seeing my daughter, a letter written some time back requesting visitation. Once a hand for a few ahns with Nonny in attendance. It was something that I have debated over, unsure what would be best for her, but in the end, I could not have her growing up thinking that I had abandoned her.
She doesn’t look like me at all, a dark haired darling with eyes as brilliantly blue as the summer sky. She coos when she smiles and I’d like to think she recognizes me, though I’m sure that’s just wishful thinking. I took her a doll and I promised to bring her something each and every hand that I visit.
Leaving her was hard, much harder than I thought it would be and I found myself dragging out the time so that I wouldn’t have to go. I missed her the moment I walked out the door and I could feel the familiar pang of panic at having to leave her.
Even though I know I’ll have to do it again,
and again,
and again.
The wound will never close, but at least I know she’s safe.
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