Butterfly Kisses

Of all the experiences I've had in life, it doesn't get any scarier than this. My wife of 25 is screaming bloody murder and has been for the last 18 hours. The doctors told me that she'll be fine, but somehow, I can't divorce myself from the fact that she has crushed the bones of my hand twice.

"AAAARGH!" she screams, wracked with pain once again.

I wince, "Hang in there, love, hang in there…"

"AAAAGH!" she answers. The unflappable doctor checks his watch briefly, then looks back to where my wife lay sprawled on the birthing table.

"Are you sure you don't want to have the epidural, Mrs. Mayde?"

"For the last fucking time, I don't want your damn needle -- AAAGH!" My wife always seems to the perfect words at any given time. Her masochistic tendency was at full throttle as she pushed through the last few hours of labor. I can take pain pretty well myself, but the suffering of others lays a thorn bristled whip into my heart. Seeing my wife like this, I would have done anything to stop her pain.

"Kings above," I exclaim, "why are you doing this to yourself!"

My wife, ever powerful, grasps me by the throat and hauls me toward her face, "You did this to me!!" she hisses, summoning fires from hell and Plutonian ice to drive the point home. After she lets me go, I realize that I'd survived the scariest moment in my life. A blast of steam rushes my face as I tug my shirt collar. The doctor motions me to have a seat, probably because I looked like I would faint at any moment.

"Your wife is a very strong woman," the doctor says. "It should be over soon."

"Thank God…" I murmur.

"AAAGH!" my wife agrees. The moment came sooner than I expected.

"I see the head!" calls out a nurse. I stand alongside the bed in awed surprise, trying to bring myself into the grueling fray once more. Without thinking, I offer my well tenderized hand to the compactor again as a flurry of quotes whirl about me.

"Alright, hold on…"

"AAAGH!"

"Hold…."

"AAAAGH! Whoo! Whoo! Whoo!"

"Now PUSH!

"UUUGH!"

"PUSH!"

"UUUUGH!"

"PUSH!"

"UUUAAAGH!"

"We got it! Suction!"

"Uugh…"

And then I heard it, "Waaaagh!" The most beautiful, sonorous note lifted from the bedside to make my ears dance and sing with a joy I hadn't known before.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Mayde, it's a girl."

"A girl!" I exclaim, "Congratulations, honey!" After the afterbirth passes, I nuzzle my wife's cheek and watch a nurse place our precious package into her arms. The baby gurgles. I feel tears leak from my eyes.

"Have you chosen a name for her?" the nurse asks. I looked to my wife, whose eyes twinkle like sapphires.

"Taylor," she says with a soft smile.

"She's gorgeous," I whisper, "Taylor."

My wife, ever witty, looks up at me, "Never again," she pants with a fond smile. I chuckle moving a hand to pet my wife's sweaty forehead. Without warning, a violent pain shoots from hand to body and I retract it with an audible yelp. I had never seen my hand so bruised and puffy before. The doctor pats me on the shoulder warmly.

"Com'on, we'll get you a cigar and an X-ray."

------

"…and bless mommy, and daddy b'cause they love me very very much. Ah-men."

I smile, "That was very good sweetie."

"Oh!" my child exclaims, "and bless daddy's arthritis so it his hand doesn't bother him no more."

I laugh, "Daddy's hand appreciates it." Taylor bounces from her knees to her feet, hopping into bed with a winning smile. I don't know why, but watching her puts me in an incredible mood. Such energy, combined with the tender cuteness of a six year old, never ceases to astound me. Even after our busy day, she manages to playfully squirm into her Little Mermaid comforter. She looks at me, eyes shining in the dim luminescence of a red Elmo nightlight.

"I had a lot of fun today, daddy," she begins.

"We had an adventure alright," I respond, rising from my knees to tuck her in, "and ya know what?"

"What?"

"I can't wait to do it again!"

She giggles and turns aside as I sneak in a surprise tickle. "Hee-hee! Me neither!" I gently caress her head and press my lips lightly to her young forehead. It is warm, and draws me in with its innocent smoothness.

"Goodnight, honeytree," I whisper, slowly starting to creep from the room. No more than five tiptoed steps away, I hear her voice again.

"Daddy?"

"Yes?" I say, turning around.

She smiles at me, "Thank you for walking by the pony today."

"Yes it was sweetie," I coo in return, "now you go to sleep, and have happy dreams about ponies and unicorns and that fun stuff." Taylor smiles and turns over, pulling the covers over her body. This time I get about two steps before hearing my daughter chirp out again.

"Daddy?"

"What is it, sweetie?"

Taylor's silhouetted body sits up in bed again, illuminated by the soft glow of the nightlight. She appears to hesitate, then says softly, "You're not mad about the cake, are you?"

"Awww," I laugh softly, "of course not. Next time just make sure you get some."

"I know the cake looked funny, but I sure tried." Taylor's beaming smile stole the show from the nearby light.

"You did, hon. You did." I yawned briefly, leaning against the door post. She fell silent again, and it became obvious that she didn't want me to go. Come to think of it, I don't think I wanted to leave her. Quietly approaching her bedside, I pulled her comforter up over her again.

"Wait!" she exclaims, "one more thing, daddy."

"Hmm?" I ask, "Oh yes!" She squirms her way close to me, gently tugging my shirt to bring my face closer. I close my eyes, counting the precious moments where she brings her eyes close to my cheek. I feel the tender fluttering of young eyelashes, eliciting a smile from my face.

"Butterfly kiss!" she chortles, giggling with glee. I laugh with her; how can I not? The sound of childish laughter is a gently sweeping feather that tickles the hearts of all who hear it. Taylor's laugh was no different. I tuck her in once more.

"Sleep well, honeytree. Pleasant dreams."

"Night, daddy. I love you."

"I love you, too."

I withdraw from the room, feeling a strange tingle permeate my body. It's not easy being a dad these days. Seems like at every turn someone is trying to influence your child; but, with every butterfly kiss I am reassured that I'm doing the right thing. Basking in the glow of your loving daughter is the greatest experience a man can ask for; don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

------

Taylor turns sixteen today. I swear, whenever I look at her, she seems to be becoming more and more like her mother. She doesn't act or move the same way she used to. One part of her is a woman, with all her perfume and makeup. The other part is still daddy's little girl, inwardly loathing the loss of her ribbons and curls. To be honest, I never know which role she is playing. She is as beautiful as a glistening dandelion and five times as mobile. This most recent incarnation of her burgeoning independence; however, is causing us consternation for two very different reasons.

"For the millionth time, dad," Taylor said, "it's me, two guys, and another girl. We are going to a restaurant down the street, then to the movies, and right back here, okay?"

"Who are the guys?" I probe.

Taylor frowns, "Why are you making this so hard?"

"Who are they," my tone of voice indicates the matter is not a trifle to me, "I don't have to let you go at all you know."

"Cindy Triess is the girl and Bob Paterno and Carlisle Sorority are the two guys. You know? The ones I've known since middle school? Do you want their social security numbers or something?"

"Don't sass," I chide, "this is important to me."

"And it's important to me too!" Taylor exclaims, "They invited me out for my birthday and I'll look like a total geek if I don't go with them."

"They aren't older than 16 themselves," my wife adds, putting down Toni Morrison for the first time in three days, "are they decent drivers?"

"Bob got ten tickets the other day, and Carlisle is running from the CIA, CAP, DMV, and FBI."

"Taylor…" I growl, "this is not something to make light of."

Taylor spins around, looking at the ceiling forlornly, "No one else's parents would put them through this. Why do you have to be so difficult?"

"Because we love you," I reply flatly, "and whether you value that or not, it would be a very difficult thing for us if you were to get hurt or something."

"It's always about you, what about me?" Taylor complains, on the verge of tears. She comes over to the easy chair that I am resting in and clasps her hands together, "Please, daddy," she says, "this is my sixteenth birthday. Don't make me miss out on something I really want to do. This only comes once, you know."

I quail, trying to parry the 'cute attack' that got her a cell phone, car, and several thousand dollars of my precious chump change, "What about us? We wanted to do something special with you too."

"Well…" she deliberated, "it will have to wait. It's not like I don't love you anyway. Friends come and go, but you two will always be my parents."

Damn. She is good. My wife, ever coy, looks at me with 'that smile'. You know, the one that says she's got my vote. I rolled my eyes to the ceiling.

"Okay, okay, fine." I waggle a finger in her direction, "but I want to hear from you every 30 minutes. Just call on that overpriced piece of technology you have there."

"Every hour."

"45 minutes."

"Deal!" she giggled, hopping into my lap and cuddling like there was no tomorrow, "you're the greatest dad!" I sighed and produced my wallet on cue, hardly wanting to see how much she was going to take.

"Just be careful, please?" When I felt my wallet become a few pounds lighter, I painfully returned it to my pocket. Taylor was abuzz with excitement and started for the door immediately. "Whoa!" I call after her, "aren't you forgetting something?"

"Oh yes!" the young lady returns to my side, smiling warmly.

"You know how much I love you daddy," she whispers confidentially, "but if you don't mind, I'm only going to kiss you on the cheek this time." The peck came and went rapidly, and my feeling of all being right with the world lasted until the front door clicked shut. I sigh and glance to my wife.

She smiles, "Our little girl is getting older."

"Yeah," I say hesitantly, "I don't know if I'm quite ready yet."

"You'll grow into it. She's coming of age you know."

"Humph," I snort, "Of course she's got to grow up sometime. Let it never be said that I kept her from developing." My wife smiles briefly before diving into Paradise again. The title catches my eye, and I can't help but remember the many butterfly kisses from years before.

------

The accident was tough on us all. Though Taylor and Cindy were not injured badly through the mercy of God, Bob suffered major trauma and Carlisle didn't make it to the hospital. Despite my misgivings over getting her a phone, it ended up being the deciding factor that avoided a total disaster. Taylor had called about ten minutes before the collision. She sounded as if she was having the time of her life. I heard music and laughter in the background.

As I sped blindly to the hospital, I vaguely remember thanking God that it was not our last conversation. We met in a powerful embrace as I sprinted into the emergency room, her tears tinting an abstract pattern on my shirt. I held her tightly, as if her pain might disappear should I squeeze hard enough. It was a father moment that I can't begin to describe. Stark terror slowly gave way to relief, and the relief led to compassion. I made a pie crust promise to myself that I would do everything in my power to keep her from such pain again. In the weeks leading up to this moment, I felt that crust slowly crumble as the inevitability of her leaving home became more and more real.

"Are you sure you have everything?" I ask.

Taylor nods her head, "I'm sure." I am confident she is. My little girl is a strong young woman now. She has the kind of self-confidence that can't be taught, only learned through the right combination of trial and error. Somehow, it calms me. My wife, ever steady, suddenly seems to be the most concerned person in the world.

"Do you have the medicines I packed?" she inquires, "getting sick while away from home is just a terrible thing."

"I've got them, mom," Taylor smiles politely, "and college is only a nine hour drive away. I promise not to die before you get there." This tidbit of humor throws my wife into a mild fit, but my laughter indicates that at least one of us got the joke.

"Hey now," I say, "don't go dying on us. We worked hard to get you to this point."

Taylor smiles on me warmly, "Of course, dad." My wife rustles a few sheets of paper, eventually coming up with the one she wants.

She hands it to Taylor, "Here are some important campus phone numbers you can call. Student Health is covered by your fees so don't be afraid to use them…"

"Mom…"

"The union has a lot of useful information that will keep you abreast of what's going on around campus…"

"Mom…?"

"Your dining plan will be activated once you get there, so make sure you don't starve-"

"Mom!" My wife stops short. Taylor puts on her best 'comfort the parents' face. "I'll be fine." I walk up behind my wife and put my hands on her shoulders in an expression of comforting. She sighs and looks up at me.

"Alright, alright," she smiles at Taylor, "I guess it's just the mom in me, that's all."

"We have to get going if we're going to get on the road," I remind everyone, "snag a suitcase and let's get packin'."

We go through the packing ritual silently. Taylor and her mother bring box after suitcase after trunk, leaving me to figure out how to fit too much stuff into too little space. I don't mind, especially because my mind is somewhere else at the moment. Between contemplating our route and planned stops, Taylor manages to guide me aside for a brief second.

"Alright, go ahead." The way her statement comes out confuses me.

"Huh?" I say, demonstrating my supreme conversational brilliance once again.

Taylor puts her hands on her hips, "You are being awfully quiet about this whole college thing."

"What? Do you want me to object?"

"No," she hesitates, looking back to ensure our privacy, "I just expected you to be more…I dunno…emotional or something?"

I smile at her, "Of course this is a tough time, but you're a young woman now. All the trips you've taken and experiences you've had put you heads and shoulders above your peers. That's why you got your scholarship, and that's why I'm not worried. You'll be fine, and if not, I'll be right there to help you along."

"Thanks, dad." Taylor beams, giving me a peck on the cheek, "I'll always be your little girl, promise." I can't tell whether it is because of my comments or if the excitement of leaving has gotten to her. At any rate, I wish I weren't such a good liar. Truth be known, I've never been so scared in my life.

Like the wind, the years have blown by. My little girl is going off into a much bigger sea with all kinds of new experiences ahead of her. A nagging logic at the back of my mind tells me that I won't be there for every emergency. I won't be able to pat her on the back after a low grade, or laugh with her after a funny incident. As much as I'd like to, the logical side of me is aware that she has to struggle on her own. That doesn't mean my emotional side has to like it. Later when I ferry the empty car back from the college, I know the last remnants of pie crust will dissolve under the merciless effects of time.

------

Precious time has passed. The college years have come and gone like a rip tide. Was it uneventful? Hell no. These have been some of the most difficult years for Taylor and me, or at least as our relationship has gone. It's funny, when she came back from college the first few times it was like starting all over again. My little girl wanted to be my little girl all over again and do all those things she used to do as a child. I played along; after all, I felt the same way.

But she grew up all over again. Graduated high in her classes, much to my pride and joy, and has a promising career ahead of her. I can tell just from her outlook on life that she's going to make waves wherever she goes. Despite all these happy things, I stand in stunned silence at the newest challenge to befall our relationship.

She'll change her name today.

In a few hours, I'm going to give away the most precious thing that has ever come into my life. Standing in the bride room, my tuxedo looks as sharp as ever. Taylor plays with her shimmering veil, stroking it with absent care. I must be staring rather hard because she turns to look at me.

"What are you thinking?"

I am caught off guard. "I-I don't know…" I manage to swallow, "I just- I really am not sure."

"Are you feeling alright, dad?" she asks me softly.

"I just feel like-" I start, "I feel like I'm losing my baby girl."

"Aww," she gets up and presses her mature female body against me, "I'm still your daughter, and I still love you." I hug back, feeling an emotional tension flow through my body like liquid sadness. Then, it happened. A gentle fluttering of eyelashes tickles my cheek, opening a treasure chest of fond memories shared with my daughter. I inhale, and release a gentle sigh.

"Butterfly kiss…" I breathe into the wind, "I thought you had forgotten-"

"Never," she says, "I'll never forget them." There is a knock at the door. It's my wife, and she's telling us that the show is starting. Taylor steps back and smiles, taking my arm.

"Walk me down the aisle daddy, it's just about time."

"Of course," I whisper hoarsely.

"Does my wedding gown look pretty?"

"It's beautiful, honeytree." My voice breaks, and my emotions seep through my battle worn façade. A sob escapes, though I work to pull it back. It is enough to gain her attention, and she purrs at me.

"Daddy, don't cry…" The words ring in my ears. For a moment, I can't tell whether she really wants me to stop or not. In the next moment, I realize that it doesn't matter. I take her hand and clasp it warmly in my own.

"Precious," I whisper, "we've been through a lot together. And before I let you go, I just want you to know this. With all that I've done wrong, I must have done something right to deserve your love for all these wonderful years…" I trail off. I consider myself a strong man; but, in the face of such a meaningful event, I feel myself weaken.

Taylor's eyes glisten with happiness, but she says nothing. She doesn't need to. Though today is a big step for us both, we know we'll make it. I couldn't ask God for more; in this moment I understand love more than anything else. We leave the room and make our way down the crushed velvet carpet. The path leads to a new life, a new beginning, and a new bond. The last pieces of resistance fade as I resign myself to the happy truth. I know I have to let her go, but I'll always remember every hug in the morning and butterfly kisses at night.