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| I'm in the northern yellow, Mary is in the green |
Living 12,000 miles away from my daughter
sometimes hurts so bad that my shoulders droop and my heart breaks. So far away, I am not there to teach her many
things that my mother taught me: history of Mom’s adventures, stories from my
childhood, how to make a pie—and, not there to rock her little boy and sing him
songs my mother sang to me.
So we watch that little boy Benjamin play, talk, cry, and grow up over the
computer and hear how our daughter Mary is doing in Switzerland.
Recently she stepped in a pothole while
crossing the street, fell and twisted her ankle. Benjamin looked down at her right next to
him, still holding his hand. He moved so
he could sit on her lap and pat her shoulder, and hug her. It’s
alright, Mummy. It’s alright.
Facebook is good as a tool to see what they are
doing. Richard, Mary, and Benjamin went
to a petting zoo recently, where the goats received more than they deserved, bags of goat feed to buy; those goats were well padded. He patted their furry goat butts, and gave
them all the love and smiles that weren’t mine.
To be so very far away and watch a two year old
become a three year old is a year he grew up and I grew older.
Dang
it.
