LAX

It was 11:00 and there I was at LAX, standing at the curb, holding my daughter in my arms wishing I was welcoming her to my house, rather than saying goodbye and call me when you arrive in Pittsburgh. It was 11:03 and she grabbed her luggage placed her back pack on her shoulders, started walking away from me toward the United Terminal and I felt my heart fall into my stomach, my stomach tighten as if I was on the downward slope of a roller coaster, and my spirit fade and fall and seem to go into hiding. It was 11:05 and I started the car, headed toward the exit, looking for Century Boulevard, and looking for some reason why I had to say goodbye.

Our kids are magic. They suddenly are in our lives, there is instant and unconditional love, and immediately life seems lost without them once they move on, move up, move away. Our kids are miracles. They suddenly are in our lives and the first word, the first step, the first day of school, the first time they are sad or happy transform our world and we see a bigger picture from something so tiny and trivial. Our kids are momentous. They instill fairness, inform us of our frailties, find truth when we just wanted to look the other way and define just and fair when forces beyond our control seem to be full of injustice and unfairness.

11:10 and I am on the road home minus my front seat passenger, and minus my little girl who at 30 years of age is still my baby. I am driving home hoping Dani Buncher's flight is safe and stress free, and wishing life would allow for me to see her every day. We hugged and said I love you, we laughed about the week we just spent in each other's company, and we silently looked, stared at the soon to be emptiness, the distance in time and space that would separate us.

11:45, I am home and my partner Joe is waiting with a shoulder to lean on, tissue in which to dry my tears, and an ear to listen as I lament the fact that I already miss my daughter. I am home and wait to receive the call from my daughter that she has arrived in Pittsburgh, all is well and perhaps when she might return.

Love is amazing. Love is wonderful, worrisome, wanting and wanting more. My daughter Dani, spent a week with me, and I wish she never had to leave because once she was in my arms again I never wanted to stop holding her.

It is now 5:28 and I am sad, but so lucky to have a daughter as delightful as Dani.