Kelly Corrigan

I wanted her notes on raising a girl.

Could I give them what she gave me?

Good sense, bravery, a total freedom from self-consciousness that comes from years of observing her in the world and perhaps a little from her favorite refrain to me, Oh, for God's sake, Kelly, who's looking at you?

I wanted her thoughts on acceptance and detachment and all the other hardest things parents are required to do.

She was so quirky and street smart and low maintenance and fiercely committed to raising proper adults.

I got a lot of tenderness in those last eight days.

We kissed and held hands overnight, and I brushed her remarkable hair and put Vaseline on her lips and lotion on her arms.

It was like caring for a child.

She said, I feel sorry for you.

This is too much.

I said, my whole life, it's been one direction with us.

I've never had a chance to help you before.

I mean, maybe I put in a storm window.

This is my big moment where I can show you love.

And she said, like a contract had been struck.

Okay, that's good.

That helps me.

And then you make me happy, Kelly.

You make me happy too, Jamie.

It was God sent to be your daughter.