Everything changes

Bear left the house just fifteen minutes ago, on the way to see his daughter for the first time in over ten years. She will be 16 this year.

I have always been comfortable with my choice not to have children, but I guess I never fully realized until now that life comes with deep, pulling emotions no matter what side of that fence you end up on.

I am a daughter. I had a father. I know the intricacies, the complications, and the unbounded love that can go along with that relationship. And after today, Bear will have a connection with his daughter. His.

It is an odd thing to be a link attached to a circle that you will never be on the inside of. I so wish I could be there when they meet, laugh and cry and hug and take pictures, but I don't belong there. My presence would detract from their reunion. Knowing this makes it difficult to concentrate on washing and drying the dishes, which is what I always do when I am waiting or thinking, or both.

It makes me so happy that he and his daughter are finally getting together. The circumstances that kept them apart were far from good ones, and the fact that everyone is older and wiser now, willing to let bygones be bygones and move forward, is a cause to celebrate. The reasonable, mature part of me is glad, so glad.

There is also a part of me that mourns, I think. Mourns that which I will never have, that literal, physical connective tissue that Bear and I will never share. That child with big eyes, a wise mouth, and a great sense of humor that will not exist in this lifetime.

It is a fact that nearly every man that I have ever loved has had children with another woman. It's not like today is any different than any other day, really.

But, of course, it is.