I stalk through the entire airport twice, at least, while waiting for my plane at Sea Tac, past plastic sheeting and dust, then settle in nice, new chair. As the passersby move past, a businesswoman hurries, half dragging her little daughter. The girl with Down’s Syndrome tugs on her mom’s arm, strains to get her mother’s attention. Mother heeds not. Then they’re gone. Curious, I walk over and discover that within the new flooring, streams flow filled with pebbles and fish of brass. It’s lovely.

How many moments important to my children have I missed, focused on the futile and superfluous? I used to let my four year old daughter play with Trulia and Zillow on my iPad. “Mom, look. Look mom.” She’s tugging on my sleeve. “Look mom, it’s North Park.” I glance in irritation and HOLY CRAP! She’s circled the grassy area next to the high school and it’s called North Park! When did she learn to read maps? How did she know it was North Park? How did I miss that?

Gazing blankly in the bathtub, I almost did not hear my twelve year share her dream…the dream she had before my children were removed to prevent “collateral damage”. An angel took her into a basement and wouldn’t let her touch the hands reaching from the furnace. The angel set her on a road holding two necklaces- a black swan and a white swan. He gave her the the white swan necklace…and was gone.

Concentrating on finding my next deal at the thrift store, I barely perceive another daughter directing her solemn words at me. When I stop and pay attention, she asks if we could find a book I used to read… she says it is quiet and kind of sad and has a farm. The Midnight Farm by Reeve Lindbergh. (It’s not sad! She remembers my delivery better than the content.) Considering her seriousness, we conclude our treasure hunting. I know where the book is at home. We share it, again, as a family.

So many things I’ve almost missed…now they’re gone.