Friday, July 19, 2013

The Letter C.

Some people may not appreciate me writing this, but I want to as much as you can want something without needing it.  This is my elephant in the room: the talking elephant that calls me a liar anytime I try to write about anything else without acknowledging it.  And I'm tired of choosing between that nagging feeling of deception and not writing a thing, so...

Here we go.

     You may not know this, but I've always been your second mom- in my own mind. It happened the day you were born and  everyone was concerned about me being jealous. But that was all nonsense, because you cannot be jealous of something that is yours, and you were mine. I spent the next few years just like everyone else, trying to keep you from killing yourself with your crazy daredevil antics- I could write a book on those alone. And then there were the times I wanted to kill you myself...

And then there were the times I wanted to kill someone or something else for trying to hurt you.

And at 28 that is where I stand again. I hate this thing that seems to want nothing but to consume you and destroy you. I want nothing more than to pull you from it, it from you. But I cannot, and it's torture. I've never felt so helpless in my life, C. It's terrifying. I may not show it like everyone else, but I worry about you all the time.

And then I think of how you must feel, and I  could cry for days. Even when you don't seem sorry, even when you seem so angry, it must be so hard, and it must hurt so much when it's not numb. In a way, I understand the desperation to rush back to numb.

But I miss you so much. And I want you to be four again so I can physically keep you away from dangerous things, but I also want to find a way to keep my hands by my side and watch you face this down.

But only if you can promise me you will be okay.

Because we all live in fear of that.

I don't know what else to say other than I see you start fresh with the kind of earnestness that is making tears well up in my eyes. I hope you keep believing in yourself like I believe in you. I hope you know you are capable of overcoming, because I know you are. I hope you know every difficult emotion or conversation or even moments of total anger have all come from a place of fear of losing something too precious to even really speak of: you. I love you and I cannot wait for the day when I see all your light restored to your eyes. Until then, I'm praying all the time.

See you soon.