Dear Child

Dear child.

We have come to a fork in the road.  I can no longer see where your path leads, and I cannot hold your hand as you walk it.  I see you in a million different moments, a thousand angles, a tilt of your head when you smile, a stubborn cross of your arms.  Lately I’ve been sinking back into particularly great moments: twirling to music blasting in the living room, sitting up when you woke in the night, belly laughter, how your eyes scrunch tight when we say goodnight prayers.  I’m holding onto those memories with everything I have because I know you’re hurting.  These last days together will be hard, and you’re angry.  You’re pushing and kicking me away.  

I can’t imagine what you think.  I don’t know if you understand what’s happening beyond feelings of betrayal.  My prayer for you, child, is that you will not harden your heart.  Women in your life have hurt you.  They’ve left you.  It breaks my heart to know that I’ll be one of them.  I want you to know that it’s not your fault.  Keep your heart open.  You are worthy of love, and you can let the walls down again. 

I’ll admit that I’m not perfect, and I am struggling through goodbye too.  When things first started to change, I couldn’t stop thinking of my own grief.  Then I moved into the cosmic questioning of God’s divine will and goodness.  It took me a while to truly stop and focus on what you’re experiencing right now, and that’s the most painful place to land.  I don’t know how to help.  I don’t know what to say.  If there’s anything I could fix in all that’s unfixable right now, it would be just to help you, even a little.

I watch you in a flurry of rage.  Toys fly past my head in slow motion.  There’s a rattling of your screams in my ear.  Somehow you bottled up a vortex and swallowed it.  There’s chaos in your body, swirling in your head.  It rages onward until you can’t house it anymore and collapse to fight it again tomorrow.

I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  I wish I could make it stop.

I pray that you will know how loved you are and how wanted.  What little comfort it is right now, we’ll always love you.  You’ll always be family to us.  I will pray for you as I would any daughter of mine.  I will love you as I would my own, far away as we may be. 

When the dust has settled, know this.  You are resilient.  You are strong.  You are beautiful and stubborn and always true to yourself.  You are thoroughly loved.  There are a purpose and plan for your life. 

Adventure awaits, my child. There are dragons to slay, rains to dance in, and so many more belly laughs to be had. It may feel different at first, but I know for certain there is joy around the corner. I pray it sneaks up and overwhelms you quickly, and you can embrace the next adventure. You will move mountains, and I can only hope to hear about it someday. 
May we meet again.

“He will not let you stumble;

    the one who watches over you will not slumber.

Indeed, he who watches over Israel

    never slumbers or sleeps.

The Lord himself watches over you!

    The Lord stands beside you as your protective shade.

The sun will not harm you by day,

    nor the moon at night.

The Lord keeps you from all harm

    and watches over your life.

The Lord keeps watch over you as you come and go,    both now and forever.”