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To My Daughter, Through This Transition
My dear Lily,
I find myself saying, “I’m sorry,” more often than I’d like. I wish I could express it in a way that truly captures everything I feel. Every day, I apologize for countless small things—when you stumble at the playground, when I forget something you wanted, or when I have to say no. Yet, behind each of those casual apologies rests a deeper sorrow. I’m sorry there isn’t a second pair of arms to hold you. I’m sorry it’s just me for now. I’m truly sorry.
You deserve so much more. You deserve the kind of family we see on our outings—a mom, a dad, and a child, all together. While those families seem to stand strong on three legs, we sometimes feel like we might topple over, trying to balance on just two.
This journey has been tough, but gradually, the burden is lifting. What once felt like losses are transforming into new beginnings. I’m starting to find bits of joy again.
However, for you, there will be some voids that might linger throughout your life. No matter who you’re with, you may sometimes feel the absence of the other parent. You will navigate life with only part of your family present at any given moment. This reality breaks my heart, and I can never apologize enough for your loss.
Just a few weeks ago, while we strolled to the park, you innocently asked where your siblings were. It brought tears to my eyes, and I felt that familiar tightness in my throat. How do I explain that you may not have full siblings? How do I convey that I won’t have another baby who shares your features?
Every day, I practice letting go of the dreams I once held; I’m learning to let those unrealized futures slip away like sand through my fingers. I want to help you navigate this as you grow, answering your questions about siblings, why we have two homes, and why your parents live apart. I’ll strive to explain these things without feeling overwhelmed by the loss I can’t articulate.
You bring so much light and joy into my life. Your laughter, your curiosity, and your kindness are treasures I hold dear. I am confident you will thrive—you possess strength and resilience, and you are surrounded by love. You’re not alone in this; many of your friends share similar experiences.
This story isn’t unique, yet I never imagined it would be ours. As I held you for the first time, I envisioned a different path for you.
When you snuggle close at night, or when I pack your bags, I wish I could shield you from the confusion. When you ask if I will be joining you, and I see the uncertainty in your eyes, I can’t apologize enough. I can’t convey how deeply sorry I am for what you may feel, even if you don’t fully understand.
I hope we can build a strong relationship even while apart. I want our family to stand firmly on three legs, even if they are a bit spaced apart. My wish is for you to never feel like you’re missing out. I hope we can become something even more remarkable than the sum of our parts.
One day, I hope this sense of guilt will fade, that goodbyes will become easier, and that our situation will feel normal, instead of a patchwork family. I hope you find siblings, whether through family or friends, and experience the love, annoyance, and shared history that comes with it.
You are okay, my sweet pea. When you wake from nightmares, I rub your back and remind you of that. I watch your breath slow under the soft glow of the night light, and I wish I could shield you from every worry.
I’m sorry…I hope…you’re okay…