His Daughter Samantha

Samantha Truman was at home. She knew that her return to academia would require a lot of work, but the amount of reading that she had to get done for her intensives was, well, intense. In her undergrad her social life had suffered due to lack of finances. Now that she was working on her masters, it was because of time. Samantha's friends had taken a back seat to her schoolwork, as had concerts, festivals, and movies. She couldn't imagine how someone could have a boyfriend and keep up with the amount of classwork she had to get done.

"It's only for now," Samantha mumbled, reminding herself that she was already halfway through her first semester. Time would pass, and she would get the things she wanted, just not right away.

It was strange being back home, especially with her mother gone. On her first day back, Samantha immediately noticed the change in her dad. He was more distant, more distracted. She wasn't sure if he'd been able to grieve properly, if he even had the tools to grieve. Suddenly her dad, the man who had been a rock to Samantha for her entire life was losing his temper too easily and unable to make long-term plans. Her dad, David Truman, was depressed.

She didn't want to fix him, but Samantha certainly wanted to help. If her father was unable to properly grieve, it would eat away at him, at who he was. There were long-term health consequences, mental health consequences, relationship consequences. She couldn't prescribe ****, nor could she ethically provide therapy for her dad, but there was one thing she thought he might be amenable toward.

"It's great," she gushed, "best meditation podcast out there. It'll really help. Trust me!"

And he had. To his credit, her father was trying, and in the trying he was becoming more aware of his emotional state, which, in turn, would help him let go. Eventually. She was a little hazy on the details.

Suddenly she felt a presence. Just for a moment she could have sworn that her father was standing over her shoulder.

"Dad?" she said, turning, but nobody was there.

The feeling passed and she returned to her reading. The momentary distraction reminded her to focus, something she was quite good at, but only when she was aware of herself and her temptations. She had this. It was only another 150 pages. She could that in her sleep, then move onto her next paper.

Yes, it was hard work being a student, but school was worth it.