You’ll probably never read this letter. And, if you do, you may not fully recall the circumstances that surrounded my writing it — and I guess that’s good. I hate that my voice is becoming so official and legal. But it seems every time I sit down to write, I have to think about if what I’m saying is going to result in losing you and your sister.
I haven’t seen you in 2 weeks and the most I’ve talked to you is a 4 minute phone call. You seem to understand how much those short daily calls mean to me. You’ve always been one to pick up on my emotions and my stresses, even at 7. Your sister is younger and also less observant, so I’ve hardly received a “hi mom!” from her. I appreciate you taking the time away from playing with your cousins to tell me you love me and update me on the mundane happenings of the day. The video games you picked today, what you had for breakfast, and how long the car ride was seem silly and pointless, but they fill up my soul. I spend my mornings waiting for you to call and my evenings crying because I miss giving you a goodnight kiss or reading you a bedtime story.
K tries his hardest to convince me that I’ll have that again soon and I love him for that — even though most nights he’s unsuccessful. It hurts thinking that someday… maybe even today, you’ll be angry or hateful towards him. It hurts more that you may be angry with me. You may never understand why I made the choices I did but I hope you do. I hope someday we’ll be happy again, and that includes Dad. I don’t want to hurt him and I don’t want him to be sad. It sounds cliche but I really do wish him a life full of happiness and of love. I don’t know that he’ll have that now and that hurts too.
Yesterday afternoon, you told me you were at the ocean. I don’t know why that made me so happy. What you don’t know is that I was looking at that same ocean at the same time. I couldn’t tell you that because your aunt was listening on, silently recording and reporting back every word I said to you to a lawyer. I didn’t know if I was allowed to be out of state or even out of town, so I didn’t tell you. After I got off the phone, I dipped my toes in the water and looked out over the ocean. I smiled thinking that you might be doing the same. Then, I began to wonder if I stayed there long enough if water rinsing over your toes might wash over mine eventually. That I might be kissed by the same water that you had splashed it and it made me smile to think that might be the case.