A formula

20674794546_44cac06075_oThis photo poem is from last May, but she left me again recently. She’s almost a full adult now, and this time felt easier, although I don’t know when I will see her again. But there’s a formula, you know, to this parenting thing: I can deal if I am happier for her (and the life she is building) than I am sad for me (and the life she has left). And I am. Because it is changing. Her. Me. All of it. As it should. (See more about the ages and stages of parenting in Food for My Daughters.)