This cold sunny February morning, I am thinking about my daughters and their families, all so far away in the Pacific Northwest. Thinking, achingly, about my daughters and unable to contact any of them by phone - two seem to be off and away doing Saturday morning stuff and have not picked up my calls and I discovered that phone numbers for my eldest have disappeared from my iPhone. What caused this?
We have spoken little since Christmas and New Year holidays. Occasional snippets here and there. I can tell they are alive because they communicate among one another or with other friends on Facebook. But a hug and a real conversation?
I am remiss. I get totally immersed in what is right in front of me, day after day. Doing the next thing and the next thing. Plus I've spent a lot of hours in doctor's office in the last six weeks. I can answer the receptionist's' first question in my sleep. Date of birth? 6-22-42. And that's for another post.
I am missing my daughters. I am missing family. Dad is celebrating his 94th birthday. The family gathered round for his birthday cake a week early because of schedules. I've seen photos and a video and I think my brother will fly up next weekend and take Dad to church on Sunday morning. What a good birthday gift. As for a birthday card from Dad's eldest daughter that will arrive on February 8? I've not sent one yet and Mom used to say, "I'd better get cracking."
Am I sensing the rhythm that used to guide my days before Mom died? I got on that plane to Seattle every other month and it feels like almost time to fly again. Even though I have deadlines to meet and work to do and people to see right here in Houston.
It's my girls whom I want to see. Right now. In all their chaos of young children and commitments and car pools and play dates and work schedules. It is those three women I want to see.