Letter to future self – Sept 2015.

Beyond all the crying, the screaming and the not doing what you tell them to there’s a moment you visit from time to time as a parent. It doesn’t matter how tired you are, you cannot sleep. You don’t want to. You are holding your baby. Sleeping  in your sore, tired arms. Nothing in the world can make you let go.

The baby is there to remind you that everything is ok and that you’re the luckiest person in the world, because you are a parent.

You think far away thoughts like “I’m gonna miss you when you go off to college, little one.” … because you know time flies. You’ve seen it happen before. You know you are gonna miss this baby holding your legs and stretching those little arms in your direction begging you to hold her. The little face she makes.

You know she won’t be doing that for long. When was the last time you hugged your parents and let time fly by? Do you even remember? I bet your mom misses her baby too.

In a couple years your arms won’t be so sore and you’ll get a lot more sleep… and you’ll miss these days. You’ll miss being the only person in the world your baby needs to be happy.

You’ll miss having them home. Sleeping over your tummy.

I’m sorry I can’t freeze time for you, honey. I do not have the power to bring you back to this moment 20 years from now when you’re finally feeling this… but I can tell you one thing: Even though this moment, mid-night September 10, 2015 is gone, you are one lucky girl for having lived it.

All the best,

You.

Letter to my dad

When I was 13, the school therapist said I couldn’t love my dad as much as I did, because he was going to die one day and I wouldn’t be able to go on without him. She also said I’d never get married or leave my parent’s house because I was oh-so-attached to my dad.

Truth is, my dad has been through a lot. And he’s annoying. He’s getting old and I scream at him all the time, but I’ll miss him.

I won’t so much miss him, as I’ll feel bad imagining him passing by my empty room and remembering me. Perhaps even memories from when I was a baby. I was a little girl in his arms, and I was always there. I was born in this house and I know how much he hates changes. I know about how he found his dad dead in their house. I know about the note his dad left him. I know this sh%# must have messed up with his head.

Most of the stuff he says make absolutely no sense. It’s so crazy I’ve actually thought about writing a book about how he says stuff like “the cancer virus likes to eat tomatoes because they’re softer than human muscles”. And MEANS it.

Sometimes I think he’s crazy, or maybe just plain stupid… but he’s really just naive. The most naive, honest person in the world. I’ve kind of adopted my dad. It has always been my mission to take care of him.

I’ve done everything I could. I’ve given him time. A lot of time to understand that I’d leave one day. And I’m leaving… In 2 weeks. I don’t feel bad about leaving anything here. I won’t miss the house I grew up in, I won’t miss the streets, I won’t miss the memories, I’m not even sure I’ll miss my dad most of the time ’cause I’ll be busy taking care of my girls and thinking about finding a job and worried about something else… but sometimes at night I’ll remember him, and think about him passing by my empty room… and I’ll cry.

I wish there was some other way, dad. But our babies need a better chance at life.

Thank you for saying you’ll be with us for Christmas, even though you’ve never been in an airplane before and I KNOW you’re terrified of the idea.

I hope this doesn’t kill you. I cannot go on without you, depending on my faith on a God I’m not sure I believe to be sure you still exist somewhere. I just can’t. And I hope you can come and join us for good when you retire. If I make enough money, the lawyer says I can come and get you.

I’ll do my best, dad, I promise.

But you have to promise me you won’t cry. I never meant to make you cry.

Love,
Your daughter.