This is probably going to sound really strange to anyone else reading this, but hi, hello, it’s mom.
(The only other person who will understand is dad. If he’s reading — well, when he reads this — hi sayang.)
It feels strange to type a letter to a girl I may never meet, here in person. You’re not here, here, and I know you can probably see or hear us when you want to come by for a visit.
But I just wanted to say hey.
And to say…
I know you. I felt you. And it’s nice to meet you. Thank you for telling dad your name. I’m glad he got to know it, because I definitely couldn’t hear you.
I’m kind of sorry we may never have you, because I’m selfish and I don’t want things to change.
Because I can believe that a marriage can be happy without kids. Because I believe I’m not cut out to be a mom. (Dad will have his opinions about this, I’m sure.)
I’m kind of sad that my decision means dad won’t get to meet you here. He’d love to have you, just not so soon.
I’m going to believe that you are happy where you are, because that’s the only way I’ll feel better. I’m going to believe that you’ll get other chances to come down, with other parents, to other families, and that you’ll be okay.
I’m going to believe that with all the infinite wisdom that’s available where you are, you can see with greater understanding.
And that I love you. (We both do, dad and I.)
With the tiny fledgling love of someone who doesn’t really know how, I do love you.
If, by some way that I find impossible to see now, dad and I do decide to have you and you do really come down, I hope you come out brilliant.
I hope you’ll have our height, and the edges of dad’s eyes, and his 20/20 vision, and my colour cones.
You’ll probably get a full head of thick hair, courtesy of both of us. No promises on when you’ll turn grey, but maybe you’ll have my brown hair, or dad’s slightly textured wave.
I hope you get dad’s heart for people, to want to help them become better.
If I pass you my naïveté I apologise in advance. Dad will help, and I definitely won’t keep you so sheltered that it leads to your detriment. But I hope you believe that people are, or at least, can be, good.
I hope we teach you that there’s strength in forgiveness and vulnerability and kindness, and in boundaries.
Dad might get you into Star Wars and I might turn you to Doctor Who. We definitely will have books. Actually that might be good education…
I digress.
The real thing I wanted to say, the words that were floating in my head the last few days, and why I’m up past midnight (12:25 am) typing my daughter’s soul a letter, is this…
Savannah, I hope I never have to convince you that you don’t need to beg, or work, or trade favours, for love.
I hope you see, from dad, what it’s like when a man falls in love with a woman, and he chooses to be intentional, and he commits.
I hope I’m a good role model, in the way that I’m in love with your dad, and I’m choosing to commit.
I hope you can feel my confidence. I hope you feel how we feel safe.
I hope you sense my peace.
Maybe you already do, because your soul is unlike anything else I’ve ever felt. You’re already brilliant and wise and so filled with energy, and loving. Maybe that’s what it’s like over where you are. Or maybe that’s just you.
🙂
I’ll end my letter here, kiddo. I have to sleep.
I know I won’t meet you for years and years, at least. So in the meantime, take care of yourself, and go be happy.
Love,
Mom.
💖
