Here

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She’s here.

They left her luggage in Dubai – two suitcases stuffed with gifts and a scattering of clothes. And there were flight delays, and the traffic on the I-5 was so bad it took me 45 minutes to drive the last 20 miles to Sea-Tac – after hovering close to 80mph most of the way because I could not be late, only when I announced that I was leaving Himself announced that before I left (it’s a four hour drive) he absolutely had to check the tires … the radiator … the oil … the-who-knows-what-because-I-had-to-run-inside-and-do-housework-to-prevent-myself-from-screaming … and then I was at the airport, and inside, and there were people everywhere but none of them was HER. (Although at least she had her phone and could text.)

And then there she was, and all I could do was hold on, and hold on, and when I let go she still held on.

It’s been so, so long. Half a lifetime, nearly. She was 18 when Himself and I found each other at some long lost intersection of the World-Wide Web, and I launched myself – not heeding the cost, never suspecting how high it would be – across the Atlantic and to the far side of a continent that was itself a world away, and into his arms, his bed, his life (our 17th anniversary was just the other day). And left her behind.

And now she’s here.

This whole feverish, dusty summer has been building up to this. Hours online planning a road trip, dollars committed – far more than I intended but it’s been so long – more hours tunneling through the chaotic mess of the guest bedroom and cleaning and transforming it into a welcoming space. The antique brass bed is the one I bought her when she was eight years old and we moved into the first (only) house I bought as an adult single person and I determined to give her a space that would feel like forever, like hers, like home. The karakul rug we found at the Rand Easter Show that same year – it’s still beautiful and soft on her feet, after I pulled it – covered with dust and bird shit and mouse droppings – out of the barn and sat with it in a steaming laundromat for hours a few days ago, one of the hottest days of this hot summer. The chest of drawers and wardrobe are empty, just waiting for her bags to arrive from Dubai.

We can wait. There’s no great rush. We have a whole three weeks of summer.

And she’s here.

The Girl Child - HERE!

The Girl Child – HERE!

With Vos

With Vos

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About Belladonna Took

Into my second half-century and still trying to figure out what to be when I grow up. Born South African, naturalized American, at constant risk of losing my balance and landing ass-first in the Atlantic. A wife, a mom, a daughter and sister, kind of a grandma. Until recently a full-time dog rescuer, now more concerned with rescuing myself. User of dog hair as accessory, decor and garnish. Technical writer, strategic thinker, occasional entrepreneur. Voiceless poet and storyteller. Born again Christ-follower and former missionary schoolteacher chewing on some uncomfortable questions. Ignorer of rules, challenger of assumptions, believer in miracles. Skeptical libertarian, equal opportunity despiser of politicians and assholes. Gonnabe gardener, wannabe beekeeper, Monsanto-hating tree-hugger. Morbidly obese chocaholic, with a horse I don't ride because I might break him, and if not he would probably break me.

24 responses »

  1. So happy you get to spend this time with your daughter, it will be a wonderful 3 weeks. 🙂 I know what you mean about love getting complicated after so much time has passed. Inevitably you’ll both end up seeing the qualities in each other that made it so difficult to part in the first place and blissful normalcy will take over.

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  2. I am so excited for you and the girl child!! I hope you have a wonderful 3 weeks together!! And I hope you share some stories about your great adventures when you have time to write in a few weeks time! 🙂

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  3. What a bubbly anticipation. Worlds apart and time may make the heart grow fonder, but it’s those few days together that will cement the bonds again. Enjoy your moments.

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  4. Pingback: Tripping with the Girl Child | American Soustannie

  5. Pingback: Gone, going on | American Soustannie

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