The truth is that Rebel Dancing Daughter almost died twenty three years ago.

She almost wasn’t here, wasn’t our daughter. She almost didn’t make it.

And now she’s leaving.

Rebel Dancing Daughter graduated from college in June. She now has a job in California. She is packing her stuff up and moving out.

She will take the black high heels she danced in at parties. She will take my old jean jacket because it’s now “vintage.” She will take piles of her favorite books that are like literary friends to her.

And off she’ll go.

She’ll start a new life, a new career that is meaningful and helpful to girls living in poverty in Kenya. She will dedicate herself, every day, to making their lives better.

It is hard to believe that twenty three years have gone by.

I went into labor with Rebel Dancing Daughter when I was twenty three weeks pregnant. This is an extremely bad time to go into labor, as you know. Babies, especially back then, did not make it.

Without the excellent care I received from a high risk specialist, we would have lost her. I was in and out of the hospital many times and was on bed rest for thirteen weeks. I was on two different types of medications. One that left my resting heart rate at, often, 150. The other caused depression. I rarely got off my left side.

The fear that I experienced during that pregnancy, that my daughter would die, or be born severely disabled, is something that I have never forgotten.

But Rebel Dancing Daughter made it and grew up. She played sports, she took dance lessons, she camped and hiked.

And she has been through her share of hardships.

As a young girl she went with me when I took my mother to chemo and radiation. She brought joy to my mother in law when she was dying in a care home. She made my father laugh when he was suffering from terminal prostate cancer. She visited her other grandpa in a nursing home and happily chatted with him before he passed, too.

Rebel Dancing Daughter lived in France her junior year of high school and she has traveled all over, sometimes alone, always with little money. She loves politics and social issues and is infuriated by injustice and the lack of fairness in a painful world.

She worked multiple jobs during college, one at a nursing home in Scotland where she took care of a number of people who either fought in World War II, or lived through the London Blitz. One still had the sweater she knitted while in a war bunker as the Nazis bombed from above.

She listened to their stories and she comforted them when they cried because they didn’t know who they were or where they were. She changed diapers, cleaned them up, fed them herself with a spoon, and held their hands. She took care of them with courage and compassion.

Rebel Dancing Daughter is much older than her years because of what she’s been through. She’s a thoughtful, kind, smart young woman. She loves to read, to write, to laugh, to explore. She is fearless.

She adores the twins, Darling Laughing Son and Adventurous Singing Daughter. They are her best friends.

And now she’s leaving. Out the door with her dancing shoes. Out the door with my vintage jean jacket. Out the door with her beloved books.

It breaks my heart. But Innocent Husband I are proud of her, we are.

Good luck, Rebel Dancing Daughter. Be safe. Be kind. We love you.