They say happiness is a state of mind.
A suspect said it was a state of well being regardless of external circumstances
I'm not good at defining things, Saga's sure better than me, she provides exact dictionary definitions.
I barely know what I feel, except that I feel.
Again.
After an eternity of pain, guilt, grief and the hardest loneliness a free man can bear.
I see children playing in the street with no more tears in my eyes.
I smell the last chill of winter in frosty March mornings and the promise of bloom in early spring flowers.
I hear a voice calling me dad, the most precious word she can pronounce, I rejoice I'm not alone.
I taste the sweetness of a big cake decorated with chocolate and strawberries.
I touch her thin arms, each bone of her back, I caress her little hand with the livid of the iv needle still visible.
I touch the softest lips I've ever met, I kiss them, eyes closed, all my body concentrate in my mouth, tongue, lips, I place soft kisses on her facial scar, to confirm her how my need and my love are strong.
I hug them both, one in each arm, in front of a table with bright birthday decorations and cakes, pastries, drinks , family and friends gathered around it.
My mother, still unbelieving, eyes wet every other hour.
Lilllian, remembering she was the good mother at the christening.
My brother with wife, son and daughter, his hand heavy on my shoulder, coming back from Berlin just for me.
John and Barbara from the office, their help I thank every day.
I firmly hold my girls.
Well, better say my daughter and my woman.
My family again.
One still knows so little about me, this father from the past, believed dead.
How can you explain certain things to your own flesh and blood after an absence so long?
What I did and I am ashamed of, the drugs, the sleeping pills, the nights of casual sex.
The other says how much I've changed in a month, and I think she is right.
It is difficult to see changes from the inside, and I trust her ability to read me from outside.
Transparent like glass, opaque only once, when I relapsed in drugs and sex, an episode I try to evaluate in the new context of our lives.
I split my time between them, I take care of two women instead of one.
Each needs a part of me.
I'm careful to help them interact, I need them both, I want us to live under the same roof.
Every day is a challenge, a delicate touch in a new drawing we're creating together.
I'm back at the NA meetings, constantly, I'm talking with a counsellor, to understand better my past.
My faults.
My mistakes.
My weaknesses.
Saga listens to me, always.
She went with me at the grave, the small red tombstone; I've made a change only, added our family name, so Anna will be remembered by whoever pass by.
Astrid is my hope, Saga is my rock.
If I think back to the first day we met, the first words we spoke, the first case we worked together. I see how things have changed, are changing day by day.
What our future will bring, I don't know, maybe the miracle of life will happen, again.
Because we've talked on the phone while she was away.
We've looked into each other's eyes when she returned.
We've spent a night asking and giving forgiveness for my words during that awful night.
Then she give me permission to undress her; for the first time I peel off her every piece of clothing with infinite care, a gesture precious and holy, revealing her body to me and offering her mine.
Saga is scared of me, of what I can became with my daughter back. The traces of jealousy, of insecurity.
I swear I'm the same man, the one who got her for two years. She opposes being a father will make me different. Saga's afraid, all of this is so new for her.
Asking her to open up a little to me, each passing day, building a connection. She knows so many things, her brain is so full of info and she fails to use them when it comes to feelings and people.
It will take time, a very long time, I'll be there to help her.
My words soothe her fears while my hands caress hers, slowly, following the texture of her skin, the contour of her veins, the hard points at the base of her fingers.
I never imagined touching a hand was so intimate, more than intercourse.
Because now it isn't just sex, I've made my declaration, I've kissed her and asked to make love to her, for the first time.
I do things.
I cook new meals when my baby asks me something special.
I observe her while she draws and we go out in my car to find interesting places.
I look at her in adoration, trying to forget the time spent apart.
But every night, behind closed doors, I'm only her man.
If she wants me, I'm here to please her.
If she talks to me, I listen and answer.
If I wake up sweating from my recurring nightmare, she puts a hand on my arm and tells me Brian is dead.
I feel.
I feel again what the word living means.
They are my world, what I failed and can try again to build.
My life has a new meaning, because I have both of them, now.