I'm the deluded child who lies awake on Christmas Eve, trying to hear Santa's bells and his laugh bellowing from the roof. I'm the successful twenty-something who still cries herself to sleep at night, hoping her daddy will finally come home after twelve years of broken promises. At least, that's as close as I can come to describing how I feel. I never believed in Santa and I hate being pitied...but right now, that's where I'm at.
Two weeks, and no visit.
And I sit by the phone in faithful expectation, awaiting a bang at the gate and a knock at the door. I'm waiting to find out if their busy schedules are more important than me. I need them, and they're busy doing what needs to get done, only twenty minutes away. An hour out of their day is all I ask; twenty to drive here, twenty spent here, and twenty to drive home.
Apparently I ask too much. Homework it is.
Two weeks, and still no visit.
