For Two

“I’d like to have coffee before we go home, ” she said.

So now we sit on the street in Little Italy. She watches the people go by. I watch her.

And just like that… she is grown. The shift. Organic. Tangible. A tilt in the subtlest fashion. Where conversation is perfectly level. Perfectly. And you find yourself communing in a most beautiful way with the soul who passed through you, the sacred portal, who you swore to protect, realizing that she is completely autonomous and standing on her own before you.

Aware. Alive. Fierce.

She doesn’t need you anymore. Not like that. Sadness makes an appearance but there is no room. No seat at the table. There are too many bags, evidence of a day well spent. The perfect dress from Little Russia, treasures from Chinatown, Thai leftovers.

And so it is just the two of you, drinking in the city with each swallow of warm mocaccino. I meet my daughter where she is. And I honor her passage. Complete. Whole. Each of us sitting in our very own power. Secure in the divine order. Checking our Instagrams.

Mocaccino and macaroons for two…