On February 28, 1989, Megan’s mother and I drove her home, just ten or so hours after the infant was evicted from her home of 9 months. Some cold nights followed and the tiny six pound heartbeat slept on her father’s chest for a few of them. Yeah, there was an immediate bonding between daddy and daughter. Her mom said when I cut the umbilical cord; Megan wrapped it (and me) around her finger. The strength of that bond has been tested over the past few years, but it’s still holding… Think of the old commercial of a construction worker high in the air with his hard hat glued onto a steel beam as he flails in the wind… I trust the bond will always hold, but heights scare me, and it’s a long fall.
Eighteen… By statute she’s no longer a child, but always my little girl. I’ve let her go, and I hope some of what I’ve tried to teach in words and actions over the past 18 years sticks. Her potential is limitless. Maybe now she’s mature enough to believe and realize it.
Happy Birthday, my girl.
I love you.