The dream comes back to me, as fresh with feeling as the night I dreamed it many years ago. I knew it was scripted with meaning even as I envisioned it. We are waiting on the platform for the train that will take my daughter to her future. Bridget boards the train with hardly a backwards glance. I call out to her. The train moves slowly. She has time to hop off; I have time to hop on, but we both remain motionless until the tracks that separate us are too many to count. It is time to let her go.