Tonight I danced with your daughter. She was brilliant and shining, her arms high in the air, her feet off the ground. With the lights and the music pulsing around us, a boy asked for my permission to dance with her. I immediately told him to ask her himself. It’s exactly what you would’ve done too. I’m not her keeper, just a guide.
It struck me finally. Why you did what you did. Why you gave your daughter on the cusp of adulthood the hardest job imaginable-deciding to honor your wishes and let you go, let you leave the fight and move on to your next life. Honestly, I’ve doubted you repeatedly on that call. Until tonight. Tonight, it became clear as I watched her make the choice so easily to dance with that boy. After all, she’d made tougher choices than he could even fathom. This was just a dance, just a boy.
Even in death you refused to silence her, to ever let her feel helpless and out of control. She was forced to make the hardest decision of her life and now she can be fearless. What’s a small hurdle, when she’s already scaled a wall?
You pushed her to grow, to be strong. And she is. She is strong. She is beautiful. She is you.
And tonight . . . tonight she was happy.