Is This the Little Girl I Carried?

April 9, 2015 8:40 PM

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The light changed yesterday, the way it does mid-March. We've been under layers of gray: snow, sleet, fog refracted through dirty windows and a jumble of coats that were once cream-colored, but have accumulated a winter's worth of ash. My daughter and I wait at the bus stop, squinting in the sun. I hand her a string cheese to help her pass the time while we wait. I notice that she has changed during winter, no longer requiring such a distraction, being content in her own thoughts.

When did she change? Was it during the moments she lay in the pre-dawn darkness, too cold to venture from her blankets? Did she learn to be peaceful then? Did she devise games and imaginary friends in those minutes before she called out for me and roused herself from the safety of her bed?

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