Punctuation

Thank You.

Thank you.
For holding her. And for taking your Gorilla Glue, discerningly filling her craters until they clung together again.
And for ultimately being who she needed when I was too preoccupied with falling apart to be who she needed.
You gathered her tiniest pieces and fumbled them back into places where they could shift into the positions where they belonged.
Thank you.
For making her smile and laugh while her eyes were brimming with tears she felt she couldn't stop. And for holding her hand through the hardest of her decisions, no matter how easy they turned out to be after all.
And for videotaping her decisions, caring enough to cry all of her happy tears for her when all she could do was smile.
Thank you.
For supporting her smiles, her laughter, and even her trembling tears of anger. And for reminding her that hate is such an unbearably strong word, one that she's too kind and loving to actually mean.
And for giving her someone to run to in the darkness, who will shine a light for her to find her way to a safe place.
Thank you.
For being her favorite teacher, her mentor, her director in the darkness, when it's hard—or impossible to see. And for guiding her in the direction to safety even in the sunlight.
And for mouthing the words a little more extravagantly so she can "hear" you.
Thank you.
For always understanding even when you really don't. And for helping her find her words by sitting in silence and waiting for her to find them herself.
And for doing that as many times as it takes for her to learn her native language properly.
Thank you.
Because now she can be who I need her to be. And I can be who she needs me to be, we can be me.
And you're still here to hold her, I know, when we fall into two lost pieces again.