A Letter to my Daughter on her 8th Birthday
You shouldn’t be here.
This day was not really supposed to come.
Well, that’s not entirely true. The days come no matter what. April 19thhas and will roll around every year always. Long after you and I are long gone.
What has been unknown, at times unlikely and, this year, is coming to pass is whether you would be here with me when that day did roll around.
And today, on April 19th2019, here you are.
Opening presents and making tic-toc videos with your friends. Giggling and singing and begging for permission to wear make-up “just for today” Singing along to rap music in the car – lyrics I can’t make out with my 40-year-old-ears – and talking to me like a girl with wisdom far beyond her years.
And while I am happy, I don’t know how we ended up in such a beautifully abnormal, perfectly imperfect scene.
Your body carries the scars of what you have endured, as does my heart. But each scar is more than a mark. It’s a story. Some are stories of endurance. Others are stories of terror and trauma. But they are all stories that, at this point, when you look at the big picture, have happy endings.
And now I am the sick one.
The one navigating the darkness and the light of where we are today. And not always doing it very well.
With so much still unknown and the future uncertain, there is still too much dark, too many shadows and possible hidden cliff-falls ahead. And all my training and conditioning tells me to be vigilant. To be on the look-out for danger. To proceed with caution – like someone walking into unknown territory, that must – according to life so far – must be full of terrors and pitfalls.
And it is exhausting.
But this territory is so much different than what we have travelled so far. Among the dark, there are clearings with light and flowers. Fields that smell like jasmine and earth after a good rain. Hills that absorb the sunlight so if you lay down in the grass you can feel the warmth of the sun from all sides. And if you climb the hills, you can sometimes see into the distance.
But more importantly, you can see how far we have come.
And being with you in those spaces of light is exactly the medicine I need. Appreciating the distance, we have covered. Feeling the sun on the hillsides and noticing – for however long it lasts – the calm.
My struggle – my sickness – is that I am a very confident and accomplished human-doing.
Doing is easy. Doing is what I have been trained to do. It is what has propelled my success and my progress in life thus far. It is what your life with all the crises we have endured thus far have taught me to do. And I’m good at it. I do it without thinking. And with a ferocity and relentless diligence that now seems impossible to un-do.
But I am going to try.
Because this space – where we are now – requires less doing. And that is what I fear the most.
The lack of control. The absence of activity. The space outside and between the crises. Where the ambiguity and uncertainty is the only thing that is clear.
This is not a space designed for a human-doing. This is a space for a human-being.
For your 8thbirthday, and for all the birthdays to come, I am going to try to be a better human-being.
I know this isn’t really the present you wanted – and I did get you those ripped skinny jeans you covet. But this is the gift that will cost me the most. This is the gift that will be the biggest and most impactful thing I can give.
To you. And to myself. And to Simon and Daddy too.
Regardless of whether we are standing in the sun or fighting our way through the darkness, I want to be there. Now you are older and while some might say you need your mama less, I think we need each other even more.
I want to pay attention more and try to control it less. I want to hand in my badge of “I’m not a doctor but I play one on TV” and take back up the roles I love to play.
Mama. Friend. Sister. Ass-kicker. Ninja.
I owe it to you – my fierce and fearless child – to be the kind of woman and role-model you deserve. That means dealing with my own sickness and taking steps to get better.
No one knows what lies ahead and whether it is smooth or bumpy or long or short, I don’t want to miss any of it.
And I will if I am too busy doing to be.
So on this April 19th, Happy birthday my darling girl.
I love being here with you today and all the days still to come – whether a little or a lot, happy or sad, light or dark – I’ll be with you.