Thursday Afternoon

I always worried that I didn’t do it right with Annie, that I was too much of a child myself to be able to lend a hand in the raising of a well-adjusted young woman. I thought she would suffer, or at least be overwhelmed by my emotional intensity, but now I think she may turn out just fine. Better than fine.

Recently, Annie has started to reveal herself, that is, and for lack of a better metaphor, she has started to resemble a butterfly coming out of its cocoon. She is at ease, beautiful, independent, strong and unshakable. My sadness has been apparent the past two days, and I always heard that you’re not supposed to cry in front of your children, that it makes them nervous, makes them feel unsafe in the world. Annie seems to sense when I’m crying and she’ll come into my room, but with the opposite of fear or anxiety. She comes to me like an angel, smiling, still and serine; her eyes looking deep into mine with such loving compassion I forget that she is only 8. She takes the corner of her shirt and wipes my eyes and tells me that everything will be all right.

What a person she’s becoming, what a gift she is to the world, how fortunate I am to be her mother.