one more year of...

When I was a kid I was obsessed with this song from Dr. Hook -- One More Year Of  (Daddy's Little Girl). I also felt like, perhaps, it was about me. Mostly because I had a death wish and was so sure that I wouldn't live to see adulthood. I listened to the song while I wrote suicide notes that I'd tuck into various corners of my room and I'd cry because the label of "daddy's little girl" seemed so sweet but as someone who was labelled one and abused behind the scenes it didn't feel so lovely....

Since I had B. I haven't been able to listen to the song. I remember when I was pregnant and we found out she was a girl -- I cringed internally and dreaded the day that somebody would call her "daddy's little girl" too. Sure, the label and the people who use it, usually, mean well but I'd spent my life wondering what I'd done to go from "daddy's little girl" to somebody he threatened to kill. I remember my mother using the label in a derogatory way even though she knew what I'd been through. Suffice to say I hated those three words and, subsequently, the song that I'd so adored growing up.

In the past few weeks I've found the song playing over and over in my head as some kind of mental torture. Since B. I'd avoided the song mostly because I can't stand the thought of losing her and the song hits too close to the home of my darkest thoughts. I remember getting the call from Husband at work, that perhaps, my greatest fear was coming true, that B. could really be sick, that she could die and that we needed to test her for things I'd never really imagined. I know children get sick and I know children get better and I know their families cope and, yet, the idea of B. having something that scary, the word "cancer" being forced out of my Husband over the phone. All of it. That song came back to haunt every inch of me.

I remember bursting into tears and I remember the inability to breathe and I remember the song lyrics slamming into me. After an excruciating snail-paced six days there was good news and lightness and, yet, the song still haunts me as if my head is not ready to let me be free of the idea of losing B.

...and soon my frightened eyes could see there was nothing on Earth that I could do...

And every time my head replays the song -- one more year of lollipops, ice-cream cones and soda pop -- I feel that aching, the pain, the terror, the paralysing fear as if Husband had just had the word "cancer" forced out of him for the first time. I feel relieved {and guilty for feeling so because I know not everyone has had the same results} and an incredible lightness of being, as I'm floating around incapable of being hurt anymore, but I also feel bogged down in the negativity of my brain that won't seem to let me move past the Doctors words... and that song, leaving my childhood haunting me all over again.

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