T had to be at the school by 5:15, so I enjoyed her company on a sunrise walk. Unfortunately I often seem to have company on dreary sky days, but she was in high spirits nonetheless.
It's strange how difficult it can be to write about someone who is close to you on a daily basis. Sometimes I feel like T is so intertwined in my life that I can't really imagine what I'll be missing when she's gone.
We laugh at the same foolish things, sometimes before they're even spoken, quote the same lines from movies and burst into snippets of song with shared recognition, often to the bafflement of anyone else in the room.
And we get annoyed with each other, no question. But T so hates to have conflict in the air that it usually gets resolved pretty quickly. This is the little girl who started saying "I love you" out loud at at about age 5, when no one else in the family was in the practice, and hasn't stopped ever since. This is the baby who at less than a year old gave you gentle pats on the back as you held her in your arms.
She has a loving, joyful nature that has been somewhat stifled by adolescence. It is a long process of advance and retreat, risk and recovery, opening up and hiding away. I rejoice as I watch her reemerging into full bloom.