Beach's outing in the yard was short. She threw the frisbee to the dog a few times and then she was gone. Slipped back into the house.
We had just returned from a parent-athlete-coach meeting. The stats of how great her season had been only made her grumpy.
Talk of her progress and recovery from her back injury, improvements, future skills, none of it what she wanted to hear let alone feel the weight of.
After dinner, we took the dogs for a walk. We wandered down the J trail across the train tracks then detoured into the Wayman's far-field to watch the sky put the day to bed.
Fifteen, on the edge of sixteen. Walking with her parents through the tall grass.
And again on return to the house, we settled in the yard. She played with the dogs in the collecting darkness. Jennifer, our Tiny House neighbor throwing a blanket over the trampoline seemed surprised to see Beach.
She invited her to sleep in the yard with the other girls. Beach politely declined explaining she had an early morning practice the next day.
She is a ghost both at home and in the gym.
The mom in me wants to rescue her.
But I know, I can't rescue her from herself. I can't stop her from being her.
All I can do is stand behind her as she makes her way.
No comments:
Post a Comment