We call this water oak in our front yard Atticus after the character by the same name in the book To Kill a Mockingbird. This tree has seen me rage, belly laugh, sing (not very well), and in this case weep in grief. My sons weren't going camping with us after all. In their late teens they are making more of their own decisions. Decisions often prioritzing friendships over family. It stings different for me. I haven't seen the kids as much as I'd like over the last 7 years of divorced parenting — and now even less.
Still, I had Lucy coming with Ako and I to see the moon hide the sun somewhere in the fields of Indiana, a place in the path of totality. Lucy is our youngest. She's turning 13 this summer but still presents like a 10 year old with sneaky hugs, playful eyes, and an unstoppable imagination.
Being alone with a child, away from the competition of attention they naturally have with their siblings, is a wonder that always surprises me as a parent — every time. Lucy's personality is like a life-size plush toy freight train. She's cute and cuddly, but can pack a punch. She never disappoints in this way. It's always a kind of opening of a new book to spend time with her. Thank you Lucy. You're my favorite daughter.
