Unwritten Journal
Published in

Unwritten Journal

Two thousand four hundred ninety-three days

My daughter.

Number two thousand four hundred ninety-three. It can be a significant amount if we are counting money. Also, it is a long period when you are talking about medical treatment.

Being a father, it is almost seven years. For me, it is the number of days from the day of birth of my daughter to her starting elementary school. It is a short time. I remember the day she was born like it was yesterday. She was a tiny human being lying on her mother’s chest, trying to figure out where she was only twenty minutes after birth, pushing her little hands and trying to get up. It was the first time I saw her.

Meanwhile, her mother and I separated; luckily, we have a normal, human relationship. We are taking good care of her, so everyone says.

When she was two years old, she became a person, expressing different emotions, from happiness to anger, starting to communicate with us and everyone else clearly.

She told us when someone hurt her. She told us when she was happy. She had no problem telling us when she did something wrong.

On Monday we all went together to her school.

And 2493 days was sheer bliss. Everything I do, everything I will do; everything is just for her. After 2493 I got a feeling I saw her yesterday for the first time.

Two thousand four hundred ninety-three days raising the toddler is a point in endless time and mortal life. Eventually, both will come to an end.

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Danijel Crncec

Danijel Crncec

Father of a daughter, music lover, occasional writer.