Tribute.

How to I mend the broken heart of someone I love so very much? I fold her into my arms and try to sooth her tears. I brush the hair softly off her forehead and gently rub her back, her shoulders, enveloping her in my arms and holding her tight. I remind her how much I love her, how she is my heart, my soul, my very essence of living. I tell her that I wish I could be everything to her, wish I could heal the hurt, but I cannot. I can only be her mom. I cannot be her father.

Most of you know that Peyton’s father has really had nothing to do with her for most of her life. He can give you all sorts of reasons and excuses for his being absent for the last 16 years, but the crux of the matter is; he is gone, he doesn’t contact her, and it breaks her heart. She tries to blow it off, pretend it doesn’t matter, she is beyond all that drama with him, but when it comes down to her high school graduation looming on the horizon, she wants him there. No matter what time has brought, no matter the separation, every little girl would like to have her father there watching her walk in her cap and gown on one of the most momentous occasions of her life.

She chokes back the sobs. What did I do wrong, she demands. Why doesn’t he love ME.? Why wouldn’t he be there on one of the most important days of my life?

I will be there, her brother, her amazing grandparents, her faithful family friends. But he won’t be there. The one who gave her half of her life. He may not have raised her, in fact, had very little to do with her, but he is her father and there is no turning back the clock on that reality. And, I do what I can. I hold her, I comfort her, but I cannot take away that pain. Try as I might, I cannot take away that terrible empty ache, that hole left by an absent father. Its eternal and enduring, a pain that cannot ever be shaken.

But I know my daughter, and I know her incredible inner strength and dramatic beauty. She will shine. Her face will be lit like an angel on the day of the second coming. She will hold her head high, she will wear those perfect shoes, a stunning Betsey Johnson necklace, her head swarming in Ed Hardy perfume and she will walk proud. And I will be there to bear witness of her accomplishment, like I have been blessed to do so many times before. My pride and love will overflow, of that there is no doubt. I will be all things to her, like I have all these years, mother, father, best friend, confidant. I will be all I can to her for as long as I can. As long as God allows me to grace my presence in her world.

So only a few more days to go. Tomorrow is the last day of school, Friday is practice, Saturday they walk. Every day she has mentioned the surrealness of it, the fact she is graduating, soon. It is quickly approaching, then followed by the carefree days of her last summer of freedom before college, before she enters into that big adult world. I wish I could shield her from it for just awhile longer, but time marches on, and we all grow up and grow older. Flowers, puppies, kitties and people. They all grow up. They all get older and life simply keeps on marching. So we find the tune that best fits our soul, and we stride to that tune in our heads and in our hearts. My daughter has her own unique song, one that only she hears, the one tuned perfectly to her spirit. And she will dance along life, stumbling, twirling, tripping, jumping, laughing, falling, twisting and turning, and the dance will continue on, over and over, all the way until its time is played out. Someday, far down the road, the notes will become dimmer, and the pauses farther between, but they will still be auditable to the one who knows them best. And she will dance every step to the very last note. And it will be beautiful.