She pulled the poorly-tanned hides closer to herself, a bare defense against the shilling win that rocked through the crags and even less support against the gaping invisible wound that she knew would never heal.
Never mind she knew this day was coming.
Never mind that within her own home, she had a look at the white-hot pain.
This was personal. This time it was her experience.
That last glimpse of her daughter disappearing below the rise was the last time she'd see the young woman. Ever.
The daughter was now gone forever. Riding off to be a part of her new husband's family.
She turned and went back into what was once a home and now was just an organized rock pile.
Today, Susan, emergency backup daughter Savannah and I toured Mercer University. They toured. I tagged along because I was invited (and would pick up the tab for lunch). The day had to come.
This is the first concrete step by my reckoning that my daughter is on her way to true independence. She'll soon be gone.
Yes, she'll come home, unlike the daughter of the medieval lady above.
It will never be quite the same.
She'll always have her own home to go to, even if it is literally next door. Her home could be on the other side of the planet. My adopted community has natives that live everywhere these days.
I want this to happen.
I don't want this to happen.
Yeah, parents around the world experience the same thing every day. Some of them, like the lady above, never see their children again. Never hear their voice, see pictures or know if they ever have grandchildren.
But that is them. This is me.