When she was six, I heard a country song on the radio one day. I only recall one line of lyrics and that's plenty because the song is about a daughter leaving home. "She'll take the picture in the hall", I think. When my daughter was six, removing pictures from walls seemed far, far away. Now, it is nigh upon us.
This week, a thousand echoes filled this house - memories in bits and pieces. I even thought I smelled baby powder one morning and it nearly took my breath away. A dear friend suggested I lean into my pain and so I did. I cried. And cried some more.
People are always telling me how wonderful my daughter is, how lovely and sweet she is, what a gifted teacher she is. I don't feel I can take too much credit - I had excellent raw material. She was born good. And except for a brief period when she was four and I thought she might be possessed, she never gave me any trouble.
I'm done contemplating the lovely long ago, at least for now. But I know I will be compelled to visit there again. When I'm ready, I need only follow the whispering come-hither of baby powder.