Shawna and my daughter, Lisa, have been best friends for most their lives. They met in the second grade when we initially moved to the Bay Area. Since then, they've spent about every waking moment together.
But Shawna has come to mean more to us than just my daughter's best friend. She's really more of a part of the family now.
Ten years ago, when the girls were 8, my wife passed suddenly. While her passing shattered my universe into tiny fragments and tore my heart from my chest, it was also extremely hard on Lisa.
The first years without here were a living hell for Lisa and me, but I had to be strong for my daughter. As a result, I pushed my grief deep, burying far down inside of me where I hoped it would never see the light of day.
Shawna was a blessing to us.
She was by my daughter's side constantly through those years, and I believe it was Shawna who helped my daughter through...more than me at times. I had to work so much during those days to support us, and as the girls grew...I wasn't at home as much as I wish that I could have been.
The Bay Area is a very expensive place to live.
Initially, after my wife passed, I considered taking my daughter and moving back east to be close to my mother. But, after losing her mother, Lisa's biggest fear was moving away from her friends, her school and everything that made her life normal.
So, we stayed. I took on another job so that we wouldn't have to sell the house. I'm so glad I that I did, and seeing how much of a help Shawna has been to my daughter, in retrospect, I'd have taken on third job if needed to keep them together.
As the years passed, I worked, and watched the girls grow. It seems that Shawna spent more time at our place than she did at her own.
She eventually became more of a sister to my daughter than a best friend, and as natural consequence of that, I thought of her like a second daughter. Once, when my daughter was 10, she even asked me if Shawna could call me dad.
I laughed, and said of course she could.
From that point on, Shawna called me dad, saying that she was lucky because she had two dads.
I was the lucky one though, because even though I lost my wife, I gained a daughter. I became as close to Shawna as my own daughter.
About 5 years after my wife passed, I came home late one night. Shawna was staying over and the girls had already gone to bed.
In a rare moment of solitude, I grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen cabinet and poured myself a glass to unwind. Taking the bottle, I sat on the couch in the family room and drank.
With the girls upstairs, the house was quiet. Too quiet really.
Sipping from the whiskey I took stock of the place. I hadn't really had time, or maybe hadn't really wanted to change things since my wife passed.
The furniture was the same. She'd chosen all of it. Above the fireplace, I saw the oil painting she'd placed there years before. It was her favorite: A big orange sunset over the ocean. It was a peaceful scene. But then, that kind of summed up my wife. She'd been a peaceful person.
Suddenly, the feelings that I'd shoved away came bubbling to the surface like hot lava. I missed her. I longed for her. Truth was that I was angry at her too. I mean, intellectually of course, I understood that shit happens. People pass. We have no control over those things.
But in my heart, I couldn't understand how she could have just left us like that. She left me to raise our daughter without her.
I struggled, trying hard to hold it in. I couldn't cry, not now. It had been too long, and I still had to be strong for Lisa. But no matter how hard I pushed it back, those feelings pushed up harder, and finally, I lost the battle.
Still clutching my glass, I doubled over and sobbed...I cried for my wife, I cried for my daughter...I cried for the years that had been so precious in retrospect, but that I had somehow managed to take for granted.
I don't' know how long I sat there sobbing...but suddenly, I sensed someone behind me.
Wiping the tears from my eyes, I turned to see young Shawna, standing there in her pajamas.
"Hey, honey," I said, trying to smile. "It's late, what are you doing up?"
"I heard you crying dad," she said, concerned. "I just wanted to tell you that it's okay. It's okay to cry. You don't have to hide it. Mrs. B. loved you very much."
I felt my bottom lip quiver in spite of myself and I forced it straight. I was deeply amazed at how such a young girl could be so mature.
"Thank you Shawna," I said, genuinely grateful.
With that, Shawna hugged my neck and kissed my cheek.
"We love you dad," she said.
Then, she turned and went back upstairs to bed.
They say that time flies when you're havin' fun...but let me tell you that the opposite is also true.
Time flies whether you're havin' fun or working your ass off. Girls grow. School years pass. Christmases give way to birthdays, which turn into summer vacations...and somehow, it all melds together into some kind of blur, until one day you wake up, and your girls are grown, and your hair is grey.
Lisa and Shawna graduated together, and started college the same fall. The following summer, they'd come home to visit.
As always, Shawna divided her time between her parents' house and ours...seemingly spending more than the balance of it with Lisa. They'd both celebrated their 18th birthdays a month apart at college. I couldn't be there for that of course...but we'd planned a night out when they were home.
One evening, I'd just come home from work. After taking off my tie and jacket in the foyer, I rounded the end of the hall, heading to the kitchen for a drink, when I saw Shawna lounging on the couch in the family room, dressed in a long sleep shirt and knee high socks.
It was her usual lounging outfit.
"Hey honey," I said, making my way to the fridge.
"Hi dad," Shawna said back, smiling. Shawna and my daughter both had become such incredibly beautiful young women. They always did well and school, and now, they were excelling at college, and I was so proud of both of them.
"Where's Lisa?" I said from the kitchen, plopping a few ice cubes into a glass.
"Oh, she went out for awhile," Shawna said. But I could by her tone that there was something more to it than that.
