There were moments when I could see it, feel it on her face. Moments of recognition that, This is Love. Love is here. I am known, loved, counted among the special. I saw my daughter fall in love with her family, her extendeds, people whom she has only known through quarterly visits and digital images. I could see her melting into their hugs and finding the arc in their laughter where trust and vulnerability live.

7 days in Ohio, in the home where I got busted multiple times for getting nail polish on cherry oak furniture, where I played endless games of Uno, where I learned how to read and read my mother's angry face and fell asleep under lit Christmas trees in a California Raisins sleeping bag.

Now my daughter sleeps on that floor, in the same California Raisins sleeping bag, and wakes up to a different hum in the morning than I remember, but one no less sweet.

Oh how it pained me to leave, but double the torment of pulling my baby girl away from this fanclub of fandamily. Little Man will come to know the club soon and well enough in time. But this last visit was monumental for Baby Girl. She has inside jokes with her Uncle Mikie. She has special songs with her grandparents and there are toys retained in their basements only for her.

I have believed for the last couple of years that this wide geographic divide between our families was overrated. And after this last visit home, I am convinced that it is downright cruel. But I'm trying to be content in the present and hopeful for the future and keeping a look-out for opportunities....lots of opportunities.....

The land of Cleve, on the shores of Erie