We walked the ditch this morning, just you and me. We talked about writing. You say it just comes out effortlessly. I didn’t tell you that I find your poems everywhere, that they make me cry when I read them alone in your room, that I didn’t know how deeply it would touch me to have a daughter with a writer’s soul too. You told me boys say you’re weird and I said yeah you are, and I am, and they’re boring as hell. You know. You already know. That’s why I don’t worry about you. Ok, lies, I worry about you every minute of the day. But I don’t worry that you will change who you are to fit someone else’s needs. And I don’t worry that you will pull away from me. Because I know you will. And I know that you will come back. And I will be right here all along.
I told my therapist the other day that all I want is to do right by you (and your sister) but that it only seems to get harder. Your needs are complex and so are mine. When you were born I never imagined there would be such a relentless push and pull between meeting my needs and giving you the life you deserve. It just didn’t really cross my mind. I’m a little wiser now, and a little better at the balance. But it still trips me up. All I hope is that when you look back on your childhood you can say I did, indeed, do right by you.
I love you, my girl. Forever and ever.
