This is co-parenting #goals.
Even at the time, I was astounded at my ability to find the words to tell my daughter her baby brother was dying. It felt like the emotional equivalent of the mother who lifts an impossibly heavy object off the child trapped beneath.
I had never experienced grief like this – so raw and so deep. It completely consumed me. I wanted to just get through it, and perhaps heal from it unscarred like a bump or a bruise. What would losing the woman who gave birth to me do to my life? Who would I become?
When I am asked if I will ever have children of my own, my response has gone from a timid “don’t judge me” reply, to simply saying no. Sometimes just one word is the biggest truth we can ever tell.
What I can take away from this is this was our first year separated. It was a long hard year with many firsts.
I might not make all my appointments on time, but I get there. I might not make homemade waffles or pancakes every single day, but when I do they are awesome.
I knew I wasn’t going to get that help from a book or a podcast or a well-intentioned friend. What I needed was meaningful, personalized feedback from a professional.
I gave you chance after chance to make things right; I set myself on fire to keep you warm. But I can’t help you.
Know the difference between giving up and letting go. Be your own everything.
I bet you’re expecting a letter filled with hate and blame, but that’s not what this is.