Watching my daughter grow up is more painful than I remember growing up. It’s like observing a G3 tornado, not knowing which direction it will go or when it will touch ground and blow everything away in it’s path. I watch boyfriends come and go and I have learned the hard way that it is best not too become too attached to any one of them, because they will be swallowed up and spit out by the tornado and their body parts strewn over the landscape. I want to shelter her from the pain of living, but doing that would also keep her from the joy.
It is very tempting to take the safe road, find myself a shelter, close my eyes and wait for her to turn eighteen, but I made a descision long ago to stay close, keep my ear to the ground and observe her like a storm watcher. It is a dangerous job, I know.