, , ,

In response to a prompt of a picture: A little girl at the top of a playground slide…..

I’m helping my little girl….

In re-reading my journals, I note the paucity of writing about my “other” children, most notably my daughter.

William (our son that died) certainly dominates the pages and Bud (my husband) is closer behind than I had imagined. My mother shows up surprisingly often. And Brian (our other son) intermittently invades the pages, often uninvited.

But where is Jocelyn (our daughter)? Is it because I believe she is brave…., like the little boy in the story we just read about? Has she found her way and no longer requires a ” helper” to slide down the pole in the picture?

Or perhaps I protect rather than help her? I don’t often invite her into my pages of woe and she doesn’t force herself in.

She is kind.
Such a simple expression . But so true that it requires no flowery explanations.

And she is brave.
Brave to climb to the top of that playground pole.
Because she is afraid of heights. Yet up she goes.

Like so many other obstacles she has overcome.
Yes, I must write more about my daughter.