There is a photograph of my daughter up on my mantle. The silver frame holds a version of her from several years ago. Oftentimes I will stop and say hello and let my thoughts wander. Old reminiscences bubble up to the top of my mind and I think about how much more centrally positioned I was in her life back then. I think about how we used to go on such grand adventures and let our imaginations soar to unchecked heights. Today our few moments of free time together seem to whisk by just so quickly. After school, homework, and other activities have commanded most of her attention and energy, she normally just wants to unwind with some television. It wasn't all that long ago when our time together was arts and crafts, reading stories, and playing all sorts of games that we made up. I have said time and again to myself how much I miss the younger version of my daughter. So I talk to her up there in her silver frame and try to hold myself together.
A friend once told me that a parent's job is to love deeply but hold loosely. Our most important responsibility that we cannot turn from is to raise children who can confidently go out into the world at their time. While I accept this fully and have strived with all that I am to be a successful parent, I can't help feeling guilty when I just want to have a little more time with my daughter before her time to fly comes along. Her picture allows me to talk to a version of her contained in that silver frame that won't go away, and will always have eyes that look to me to find adventure.
