In Her Name

Public Domain Images

It has her name written on it. Poppyseed Frummie. A letter. From a friend.

I knew that it was coming. The friend’s mother had asked for our address. How delighted Poppyseed will be to discover a letter, addressed to her, sitting on her desk in the morning.

It isn’t as though she has never received any mail. Birthday cards. Letters from Bubbe and Zayde and the tantes when she’s been away at camp.

But this is different.

I am curious. I would never read a piece of mail addressed to someone else. Heck, I don’t even open things addressed to PC.

But I am curious.

And sad. Because this is just one of the many infinitesimal steps along the path between dependence and separation.

Nearly every day since she was born, Poppyseed has been pulling away from me. In fits-and-starts. Imperceptible changes that are necessary for development.

And that slowly breaks my heart.