On This Day Fourteen Years Ago

In 2001 I went through the Summer Institute of the South Coast Writing Project, diligently free-writing for a half-hour daily in my laptop journal. The files are still right here. I just clicked them open, turned to this date, and found the following entry:

Last night I was kept awake by mouse/mice in the wall/ceiling/floor – exactly where, I cannot say, but they were downright boisterous. Good things came of it, though. First, I read the rest of an interesting article about Edna St. Vincent Millay in Vanity Fair, and then I noticed that the light downstairs in Miranda’s room was still on.

It was after midnight. I stepped outside to go downstairs and look in on her, and I saw the sky ablaze with stars...and Mars. Then I went into Miranda’s room. She was in bed reading. I sat for a moment on the edge of her bed and stroked her soft hair and remembered she is still my little girl, and how lucky I am that she is safe at home.

Sigh. This fills me with so much love, my heart hurts. She's a married woman now, but she's coming for a visit in a few days with her husband.

I wonder if she'll let me stroke her soft hair and be my little girl again, just for a moment.