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It was also tradition to sing “Godspeed,” by James Blake. This year, Reese sang along with me before she wished her uncle Alex a happy birthday. A song that had once brought me heartache now stood for something beautiful.
I stood to my feet and held my hand out to Emery, who, without question, placed her hand into mine. I pulled her up, and we began swaying back and forth against one another. We danced to the music as my daughter sat beside her brother, rocking back and forth, trying to help him figure out how to move forward to his new life of discovery.
Emery laid her head against my shoulder, and I held her as close to me as possible.
Her lips touched my earlobe as she whispered against my skin, “Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
No day was perfect. Not every day ended with slow dances and laughter, or smiles and happiness, but each day was worth it. Each day was worth living because it led to the better tomorrows, the brighter days, the happily ever after. This was our life. It had its ups and downs, but without question, it was ours. This was our mixtape, and I was damn proud of it.
I was overwhelmed in that moment with the best truth I’d encountered. A truth I hadn’t thought I’d ever achieve, but I was so happy that it had finally found its way to me:
I want to be here.
