Dear Amelia and Ben

Dear Amelia and Ben,

There are so many things I want you to know, so many gift I want to give you in this short span of time we have together. I want you to know all the things I didn’t know. I want you to have a map of the pitfalls, gullies, and sharp drop off that will come out of no where and take you by surprise. I want to fill your tool box with all of the things you will need, to build your life raft and navigate your life. I want to give you a giant shield that will protect you from intruders and harm doers. But I don’t know how to give you these gifts. They don’t fit in any boxes I have in the attic. I don’t have enough wrapping paper to cover their span. The occasion for giving them never seems right. All the same I need them to be yours.

I want these gifts for you so that you don’t have to feel the pain, sadness, loss, and loneliness that are so familiar to me. I need you to have them so I don’t have to feel them with you, and again. 

These experiences that caused me pain were my stepping stones. They became the map I use to navigate and the tool box I use to build. So if I could find a box and wrapping paper, would I be giving you a gift or would I be a thief? Maybe the gift is in not giving you a map or toolbox, but being ready with a bandaid and a hug. Or letting you know that I see how hard it is to fall or climb a steep mountain. I will have to tolerate watching my heart be broken over and over, in the same ways it has been broken when it was inside my body, and in brand new ways I didn’t expect. 

Maybe the gift I need to give you are taking care of my hurts. Finding a place to fill my toolbox. So I am ready to watch my heart breaking outside of my body. So I can tolerate and be ready with a bandaid and a hug for both of us.