It’s been awhile. I’ve been in such a good space, so fierce, so supportive, so acceptant. Then I look at a photo or recall a good memory, and my heart cracks open again. The truth is, there are more sad and puzzling moments than joyous ones. I remember how very lonely, sad, and isolated my child was. How hidden. I tried to help but couldn’t get through, couldn’t get “it,” the awful secret that she tried to compensate for and failed. She’s happier, lovelier, authentic at last, and I celebrate that. I love our relationship. I want to be as open and willing as she is. I know I’ll get there. I wish I could be perfect. I never was. I never will be, but I will continue to try.