The Real Gift

My daughter’s birthday was last month. She turned 27, which is WILD for so many reasons.

I promised her a special present, but didn’t get it to her until yesterday.

It wasn’t because I forgot about her, or was too self-absorbed to finish it on time.

(And, make no mistake, it DID used to be like that. I’m not proud to say so, but it IS the truth.)

When *I* was 27, I had just been released from my first prison term, was deeeeep in a relapse, & definitely NOT showing up for her – or anyone else – in a positive way.

So, yesterday, when I finally finished restitching the worn & tired threads of her favorite blanket – a blanket which was my fathers prized possession before he died; a blanket my daughter threw in the garbage amidst tears, convinced it was unsalvageable – I got to keep my promise, see the joy on her face, & for a moment bring my father back to life.

I’m not loaded anymore – haven’t been for a loooong time – &, when I make a promise to her (or anyone), I know I’ll keep it. And so does she.

And, honestly? Thats the real gift.

The lie is dead. We DO recover. And, so can you.

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