Dear
Me,
I
didn’t know it then, that this passing of time is such a curious thing. All of
us who live long enough are bound to the same truth: that time sneaks in
unnoticed, camouflaged as chaos and clutter, wearing the mask of schedules and
agendas. It steals moments and memories, and leaves you standing helpless as you
watch it slip past bearing the weight of your days upon its back. The clock
ticks and birthdays pass, and the wedding band rubs raw right into your skin,
leaving the beautiful, broken marks of a shared life, and your womb is filled
and emptied, and the emptiness leaves you wanting for more. And still, at the
end of each of these days, it is the passing of time that eludes and surprises me
the most.
Twenty
two years have passed since we last spoke; I have thought of you often,
wondered what I would say to you if we ever met again. There is so much you
want to know, and so much I want to tell, but still I hesitate. Your future is
my past, and I’ve spent so much of the time between us trying to undo all the
things you did, the things that were done to you. It would be such an easy
unburdening for me – to keep you from ever walking into the chains that kept me
bound for so long. It tempts me to wish it had all been different. But really,
this life is so much more than the mistakes and the chains and the failures and
the forging, and to protect you from all of that would change who you become.
And I can’t do that.
Just
the other day the editor of the yearbook staff told you that they couldn’t
think of anything to say about you in the senior superlatives. Because they
didn’t know you. Forty seven students in
your class, over the course of four years, and no one knew you. There were no funny stories, no inside jokes, no
nicknames or innuendos. Just a quiet
young girl who became invisible…unseen…a girl with a story to tell but no voice
with which to speak. It hurt to hear her
say it, that the sum of your high school years amounted to this. And it will hurt again in a few months when
the yearbook comes out and the caption under your picture reads “Most Difficult
Senior to Write Something About”. You’re
a good listener, so I hope you hear me now, I mean really hear me, in that deep part of you that believes what others
say about you: being quiet isn’t a curse, and sometimes it’s the people with the
unrestrained tongue who regret the most. Don’t worry…the passing of time will give you
a voice, and that deep down part of you will one day know that it doesn’t
matter what other people say about you. You’ve
become good at letting things roll off your back; you need to let this one roll
too. Embrace who you are…you will know it one day, that there is so much good
in you, and that nothing about you is a mistake.
I
was watching my little girl walking into school yesterday - her crop of blond
locks will surprise and delight you, and you will marvel at the mystery of
what’s hidden inside you that’s only revealed through your children. She was
skipping, always skipping, and singing happiness, and in her bearing you caught
a glimpse of who you must have been at that age. Innocent, secure, happy, and trusting. We were meant to hold on to the innocence of
youth much longer than you were given it.
I’m sorry you had to come to know the pain and problems of the adult
world at such a young age, and I’m sorry I didn’t let you grieve for your lost
innocence. It was okay to cry, and you
didn’t have to be strong. Sometimes, we
have to let ourselves feel things even if it leaves us raw and vulnerable. The alternative can be so much worse. But
this will be a lesson you have to learn yourself, through experience, the hard
way. All I can tell you is that the same
joy you had as a child will be yours again, and you can take heart in knowing
that happiness will not always evade you.
In
the end, the only thing you really need to know is this: you meet someone, and
he changes your life. He knocks at your door, and you somehow recognize his
voice, and you let him in and he promises to never leave you. He pours out his love and it covers over you
and you feel secure for the first time since you were a little girl. You tell
him everything about your life, show him your wounds, tell him how they hurt
you. And he touches them and they’re finally healed. He holds the key that unlocks your chains,
and the two of you walk together in freedom.
And he holds your face in his hands and he wipes away your tears and he
takes all your ugly and trades it in for beauty. You fall in love with him,
this man who chose you, and you want nothing more than to sit at his feet and
listen to the sound of his voice. And
when the sum of all your days is up, He will pen His perfect word beneath you
and the caption will read “Beloved”.
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