Slipping Through My Fingers ABBA

Without Prejudice

Schoolbag in hand, she leaves home in the early morning
Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile
I watch her go with a surge of that well-known sadness
And I have to sit down for a while

The feeling that I'm losing her forever
And without really entering her world
I'm glad whenever I can share her laughter
That funny little girl

Slipping through my fingers all the time
I try to capture every minute
The feeling in it
Slipping through my fingers all the time
Do I really see what's in her mind
Each time I think I'm close to knowing
She keeps on growing
Slipping through my fingers all the time

Sleep in our eyes, her and me at the breakfast table
Barely awake, I let precious time go by
Then when she's gone, there's that odd melancholy feeling
And a sense of guilt I can't deny

What happened to the wonderful adventures
The places I had planned for us to go
(Slipping through my fingers all the time)
Well, some of that we did but most we didn't
And why, I just don't know

Slipping through my fingers all the time
I try to capture every minute
The feeling in it
Slipping through my fingers all the time  
Do I really see what's in her mind
Each time I think I'm close to knowing

She keeps on growing
Slipping through my fingers all the time

Sometimes I wish that I could freeze the picture
And save it from the funny tricks of time
Slipping through my fingers

Slipping through my fingers all the time

Schoolbag in hand she leaves home in the early morning
Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile

Songwriters: Benny Andersson / Bjoern K Ulvaeus / Bjorn Ulvaeus

Slipping Through My Fingers lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

Ah, the lament of the parent realising that the little girl becomes the schoolgirl, the teenager, the adult, slipping through our fingers, the sweet memories slipping through our fingers like a silken slip, a whisper in our ear. A butterfly kiss on our cheek, a nuzzle to our neck, memories fleeting, captured in small flashes of light. The smile that can light up the room, fill you with gladness. The running towards you to fling their arms around you after an absence. 
In 1989 My youngest daughter, Lauren, died, aged 12 and a half. She drowned in mysterious circumstances in a public pool at night. She was not alone and neither was she saved or helped. No help was called, her death was lied about. The pool opened for Business the next day after our daughter's body was taken out. They could have closed it for a day. Out of respect. But they didn't. We had to sue them to get justice. It began as a normal day in the suburb of Keysborough, an outer lying suburb To the South East in Melbourne. Built originally on Market Gardens of the many Italian families that came as poor immigrants and made good, Keysborough was full of " spec homes" , cheap and cheerful, attracting the young couples we were then. Ready to settle down in the " burbs and raise families. 

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