Growing up meant learning he couldn’t.
He couldn’t prevent betrayal.
He couldn’t stop heartbreak.
He couldn’t make my marriage survive.
He couldn’t shield me from every consequence of loving someone.
And trying to protect me too fiercely had caused pain of its own.
There was another knock at my door.
I almost laughed.
“Come in.”
Dad opened it.
“You awake?”
“Yes.”
He glanced toward Noah.
“Asleep?”
“Finally.”
Dad walked over to the crib.
For several seconds, he simply watched his grandson breathe.
Then he turned to me.
“You okay?”
That question had become complicated.
Some days I was.
Some days I wasn’t.
Some mornings I woke feeling free.
Other mornings I reached across the bed out of habit before remembering there was no husband there anymore.
Healing wasn’t a straight line.
So I gave him the most truthful answer I had.
“I’m getting there.”
