I read. I suspect you know that about me already. Recently I have read “Get Out of Your Head” by Jennie Allen, “Talking to Strangers” by Malcolm Gladwell and I’m currently reading “Raising a Strong Daughter in a Toxic Culture” by Meg Meeker, M.D.
This past year has been extremely challenging as I watched my Dad’s health deteriorate and then watched him pass away, handling all of his affairs along with my grief, and not being able to draw comfort from my Mom, who has no idea he has passed, and probably doesn’t remember him at this point anyway. When I go see my Mom I keep a happy face, a smile and encouraging words. I wonder if she knows how fake I’m being. How anxiety grips me before and after each visit, how guilt and sadness can bring me down for the rest of the day. She searches my face sometimes as if she’s looking for the me she used to know. As if this person in front of her, while very welcome, is a stranger she can’t quite get used to.
And yet I do draw some comfort from her. Just to be able to still touch her face, hold her hands, and breathe her in. She’s still here and that is everything. I know the day is coming when even this will be gone from me. I realize what an important role she has always played in my life – my parent, my cheerleader, my coach, my counselor, my rock and my friend. She always had my back, no matter what. Deep conversations and deep emotions never put her off. We laughed and we cried and we loved and I already miss that part of my life more than I can communicate.
However, in reading these books and doing a lot of soul searching, I have come to realize that now I must be all of this to my Baby Girl. It’s her turn. Mine and her’s turn. Of course there is still a good dozen years before we can naturally morph into “friends” but my job right now is to set the stage for that eventuality. I need to set aside my fear, my grief and my anger and focus on what she needs from me. I’m afraid I haven’t done a very good job of it as all these huge emotions took their toll on my mental and physical health.
I’m ready now. Ready to teach her that I love her no matter what, that she’s important, not just to me and her Daddy, but to God. I’m ready to show her that God created her through love and that He intended for her to be my daughter. I believe that He sent my Baby Girl to comfort me through these times and to let me know that it doesn’t end with my parents’ deaths. They set the stage and it’s my time to act. Everything that they taught me, everything that they were – it’s time to pass all of it along to her.
I have to start with my own health. Just last night I caught myself saying “I just feel fat.” And Baby Girl not only heard me but commented “you always say you feel fat but you’re perfect just the way you are.” She loves me as I am, and so does Tony and so does God. That’s pretty powerful. Instead of feeling fat and discouraged I will feel grateful and blessed. God put these people in my life, along with some great women friends, to continuously remind me that I am loved, and in turn, I will love as well. BUT I will also treat my body better – like the temple that it is, and I hope that I will be able to teach Baby Girl to love herself exactly as she is.
She’s 8 years old now, and I realize also that I will, in fact, miss these days. If I don’t get out of my head and into her life, I will miss it entirely. And I will regret it. She’s an amazing person, full of love and laughter and sensitivity and emotion and imagination. She’s a lot like my Mom. And a lot like me. Last night I sat and watched the complete rapture and joy on her face as we watched the fireworks at Lone Star Park. She has never seen real fireworks before and she was super excited and enthralled with it. The last song they played was “God Bless the USA” and I teared up as I watched, and my husband put his arm around me (this was the song my Dad and I danced to at my wedding). I looked up into those fireworks and at the joy on my daughter’s face and I knew that I had to let her live in a world of happiness and peace and total love. Not grief or sorrow or anger. My Dad would want us to be happy. Everything he ever did was for my Mom, my brother, me or his grandkids.
Today’s the day. Independence Day. I will live for you, Baby Girl, and for me, and for God. We will take this life by storm and we will not back down. I’ll be here for you, until God calls me home. I pray that you will be strong enough to face whatever life throws at you, including having to put me in a home if I succumb to dementia. I pray that I am strong enough for you. I promise I’ll do my best. And I promise that my heart will never, ever forget you. I know my Mom’s hasn’t.
Happy Independence Day everyone. I hope you find peace in your heart and love and laughter in your home.