A long goodbye.

I can say a long goodbye from my small piece of the mountain.

We have said goodbye many times, my lovely, strong and independent girl. We have our little understandings, no delaying the inevitable. And so we didn’t drag it out. But now that you have pulled away, I needn’t hide how hard it is to say goodbye. You cannot know that I hurried to just the right spot, that I shielded my eyes against the sunrise, settling for the smallest glance, the weakest clue that all went well.

Because I know just where to look, I see the metallic flash of the rental car, daughter and granddaughter riding together. They are traveling a twisting rock-dirt road, beautiful but unforgiving. No safety barriers, and no second chance for careless mistakes.
I see another flash, and now I know this new mom, my daughter, has taken her little one safely through the switchbacks. Now I see you again, just a little silver dot, headed down the highway.

I watch for the dim, small flash of taillights, and there they are. That little flash of red tells me that your dear mother, my little daredevil of many years, now wise and cautious with this precious child, decided to slow down just a little for the sharp turn at Battleship rock. Good girl, I say to myself, still slow to know, at my heart’s deepest level, that my little girl is a grown woman, with a miracle of her own, strapped tightly in a little car seat.

No safety barriers indeed, and now you are gone from sight. There will be nothing between you and the mountain, just the way you always wanted it. And I am so proud. My lovely, strong and independent girl.