Letter to My Daughter... By Barbara

Your laughter, over the past few days, has felt foreign and almost unreal.  I had forgotten the sound of it. I have relished it and the joy it brings out in your sisters. God, I have missed you.

We are so much alike: so stubborn and stoic and proud, that we annihilate each other when we most need a shoulder.

I see this as a window of opportunity for you and me to connect and I’m not about to close it. I am reaching out in every way that I can and I am grateful for your responses, your smiles– your hesitant love. I am trying hard not to let you down, put you down, or hurt you.

Don’t grow so distant from me that you can’t get back.  Don’t let me be like my father, with my back turned, with you believing, as I have, that you don’t matter enough. Love me and your sisters, please. I know love lives in you because I see it when you help other kids with homework and projects; when you research homeless animals until late at night, instead of doing your homework; when you smirk and call me “Maaa,” because you know I hate it; when you text me an ugly photo of yourself with a sarcastic comment; when you ask me what band is playing a song on the radio; when you want clarification on how many Ironmans I have done or where my last race took place, when you send me old photos of your sisters and yourself  that I didn’t know we had (back when you joined in family photos). The other night, when you asked if I thought my client would like a piece of your artwork, I cried inside. She had cooked for you kids, again: Phillipino food that, in the past, you had mocked and said you didn’t like and you still won’t eat. But you knew the effort that had gone into the cooking and the loss that had driven it. You wanted to give back and make her happy: a moment of selflessness that I won’t forget. I can’t wait to give her your charcoal rendering of a cat, your sister’s duct tape purse and wallet, your other sister’s letter of thanks. I can’t wait to see her reaction to simply being acknowledged.

Because, Maya, something I didn’t tell you, is that this client lost her own children, which is why she tries to mother the rest of us.

I know you love me even if you don’t.  I live for our connections: moments in time that I can actually see. Maya, I need you to be happy. I will give up mine for yours if that is what it takes. I am right here. Whether you want me or not, I am right here, waiting for you. These past few days have been a gift because you have been mostly happy.

Anna and Ellis keep telling me what a good week it has been and I know it is mostly because you have spent time with them. I also know that it is a dynamic: you and I dancing together and letting them cut in.
Going to the shelter to see about adopting Fiona was the first time we have all been out together, laughing, that I can remember. You holding your IPad with that photo of an elderly homeless cat broke my heart. You knew it would. You smiled so wide next to that cat that I felt like you two already knew each other. You have made me want to make you happy. It is a passion I had forgotten and won’t forget again. You are mine. You will always be mine. I will fight for you, protect you, and never, ever leave you. I will encourage you, as tenderly as I can, to leave me, one day, lovingly, with great expectations. But, not too soon, my dear: please stay a little while.