August 5, 2003
As with all freedom, someone bears the cost. She looked into her own mirror and finally realized she could bear that cost. It was a decision with a God-awful price, but one she could live with.
I took full measure of the young woman standing before me in my kitchen. K was soulfully hurt beyond her years, but she held herself like a fighter.
She'd make it. It'd take her years to feel whole again, but she'd make it. And I'd help her get there.
I hugged my daughter and tried to make the hurt go away, but I couldn't; she would have to do that herself. Right now, what she needed to know was that I still loved her and she would stay with me, in my home, and make it hers.
In doing so, I continued to keep the promises I made to her when she was a little girl of six. If she was lost, I would find her. If she needed help, I would be there for her. Wherever I was in the world, I would come back for her. Whatever happens, she could depend on me. I would always protect her. I would never leave her. I would always love her. I was her Dad.
She held me as tight as she could and cried. All of those years she had kept to herself ran down her cheeks and soaked into my shirt. I wished I could've joined her in crying, but I couldn't. I had to be strong for her. I could cry later when she was asleep.
I held my daughter as I once did when she was a little girl. Back then, nothing in the world could touch her when I protected her, but I couldn’t protect her against this. I kissed the side of her head and gently whispered words of comfort knowing she couldn’t hear me.
Those words, sung by my mother in a soft singsong rhythm of love, had healed my broken spirit more than once as a boy. I hoped my song of love would heal my daughter as well.
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