This morning, Daughter roused me from a sheaf of viscous dreams. I was totally disoriented. Hopes of coffee and a fire eventually roused me, and I stumbled toward the kitchen, tying my robe belt, to hydrate before heading for the dining room. Beloved and Daughter intercepted me and steered me out to the table.
There, at the end where I slowly awaken in the mornings, stood a glass of water, a cup of coffee, and a plate with a cinnamon-apple pancake on it. In the center of the pancake stood a lit birthday candle.
In lieu of fifty-eight candles.
It was then that I noticed a little hand-made book, addressed to "Mamacita." I sat down and wept.
Several years ago, when I had recently begun my transition, I received a lovely little book, of the same kind, from Daughter. You can see it here. This new one is a continuation of the theme: that just because many things change doesn't mean love has to change, or fail, or diminish.
May everyone who has a daughter have one like mine. You could not possibly be more fortunate than that.