I just carried Stella off to bed. The house is quiet except for the sound of rain and the new kitten, probably up to no good. My wife, Lindsay, is at the studio, finishing off her weekly studio time. She goes to the studio for three days while I’m off from my job and usually works at least ten to twelve hours each of those days. It can be hard on all of us. The time apart. But it’s essential to our future. I may be biased, but Lindsay is an amazing artist and has found success here in town and will no doubt garner a larger audience. I have always believed this.
We three. Sometimes apart, but always together.
Stella will ask for Mamma during this time, but knows that she will come back. She says the same thing of me when I’m gone. I know that she’s not confused by the time apart. She trusts us to return. She trusts us to protect her. There’s a bond of trust we have tried it instill in her that will not be broken or diminished. I lose count of the number of times she says,” Daddy. I love you.” And gives me a hug. And each time it melts my heart. Each time it’s a confirmation of that trust.
We three. As if we found long lost friends and will never let go.
If she wakes in the night, Lindsay will go to her room and scoop her up in her arms and bring her back to our bed. We have a full size bed. Pretty small even for two and as Stella grows and the addition of a cat, things can get pretty crowded.
I dont mind though. In fact, I love it! I’ve never felt so connected to two other beings. ( The jury is still out on Gyp, the cat, who still wakes me rather early with a pounce and a nibble to the chin ). The love I feel when I wake in the morning far outweighs the sore back.
We three. Sitting up in bed together preparing to face the day.
I will go off to work in the morning and there will be Mamma – Stella day. My time apart will begin. I will be filled in on the days events, the moments missed, the milestones reached. My body will be somewhere else but my heart will be with them.
We three. We are like the spokes of a wheel, inexorably linked, and spinning through time.
father at fifty 