I should know better by now, more than 20 years later, but I don’t. I still reel at the thought that someone I love more than my own breath will be standing precisely in harm’s way – and she wouldn’t have it any other way.
I should be calmer in my heart. I should learn
from the years of watching her defeat scary inner demons and slay figurative fire-breathing dragons. I should know better than to second-guess her hard won wisdom about her own life. Maybe, somewhere buried in my DNA, I do. But it’s not surfacing quickly enough for my liking. I’m a woman. A mother. I nurture and worry. That’s my natural state.
I tell myself this has nothing to do with letting her go. I’ve already done that. She’s not a child, a teenager or even a reckless adult. If anyone can take care of herself and…
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