Wave

She used to be locked in my arms, tight against my chest. There I could look into her eyes, sing songs to her, take away her fears, and tell her how special she was. Most often she would only reply with a coo or a look of contentment and peace. While she was essentially a captive audience to my silly pantomime, it was during this season where she captured my heart and wrapped me about her fingers.

In the blink of an eye I found her at the ends of my outstretching arms as we danced and played. Soaring on the swings was one of her favorite activities at the playground near our house. We used to pretend that I was pushing her up to the clouds. The whole time she would squeal in glee, abandoning any thoughts of danger knowing I was right by her side. Adventures with daddy, running, jumping, sliding were enough to give her everything that her heart and her imagination could ever desire. There was no time to reflect or even consider the passage of time as there was always the pull of one more story, one more minute, one more show.

Soon enough it was time for our first tentative breaks in contact where she would go off to school. At first there was a look of trepidation. We would sit together in the car and play Mad Libs or I Spy or 20 Questions until the very last minute when she had to go in. Slowly, as she gained confidence and adapted to her routine, she began to seek and then claim more independence. Soon she was out the door of the car before I could even reach for a hug. She was content merely to wave as she ran off to her world. I would sit there and wait until she was out of sight. Sometimes I was rewarded with one last wave before she disappeared. The times when she looked back to find me were my favorites.