to my daughter
June 11, 2014 § 16 Comments
I’m sorry. When you walked out of school eager to leave I thought you were anxious for summer to begin. I didn’t realize you were hiding disappointment beneath polite resistance as I quickly captured photographs with friends and teachers. We came home to the company of friends and later left to meet with more friends. You bounced between cheerful distractions quietly and I misread your stillness for contentment. It wasn’t until we were headed home from dinner beneath the cover of dark skies and rain that you casually listed the day’s disappointments.
I wish there were do-overs for mommies. Instead of stealing pictures to mark the moment I might have given you space to speak out so that I might pull a teacher aside to ask questions about the transgressions. Maybe then I would have different words.
Some days disappointment settles on our perspective like a wet blanket blocking all the light and stealing our warmth. We feel a harm in the most tender places of our own insecurities and the injustice of some disappointments undermines our faith in assumptions of goodness. I can tell you life isn’t fair and that mommies are powerless to right some wrongs, but those words are hollow to my own ears.
Instead I gave you imperfect words of honesty. I mirrored your disappointment and didn’t contrive to create excuses. Then I gathered my thoughts and named my confusion and your hurt owning the moment in a letter to an educator asking not for apologies but insight.
In one last impulse I collected you into a hug and explained I couldn’t take back the harm or right a wrong, but I could speak honestly of your worth and not hide behind acceptance. Grace does not demand silence or beg invisibility, it requires strength of self.
I hope one day when you look back at the pictures that mark this moment you remember standing tall in your disappointment. The self-worth that pulled your shoulders back and bent your lips into a smile despite the weight on your heart are evidence of grace.
Love, Mom
scribblechic 
Well done, Mom.
The truth is I can only capture a moment or lend comfort, I cannot undo a harm. Some days good enough feels far from adequate. Thank you for your kind words of encouragement.
oh. so poignant and heart felt.
i wonder if my mom has felt this way about me. i imagine she has, but didn’t have the english or words to express it like you do. in that sense, your post gives me some insight and healing. thank you.
To lend another a moment’s healing while finding my own way is a great compliment. Thank you.
Ugh… the belly-thumping moments of parenting. The best we can do is to Notice and be The Mom in that moment. Sounds like you did just that. But geez, wouldn’t just a simple, innocent, Instagrammy moment be a relief? I’m still waiting for those. Maybe they don’t really exist at all… but are just illusions for the parents who don’t Notice.
A soft filter sounds indulgent at the moment. I would love to blur the sharp pieces of our evening with a gentler memory.
She will. Oh the future insights photographs have to share …
Thank you. I hope, one day, both children will align forgotten images with my memories and know the moments were layered in love.
I’m always impressed by the way you describe specific events in slightly clouded terms, so that they remain real, but become general enough for almost anyone to relate. I’m also sure your kids will benefit in countless ways from your ability and willingness to pay close attention — a skill too quickly disappearing.
I wish I could claim greater skill, but the fine details are blurred out of respect for each child’s privacy. That others can infer their own experiences in the faded areas of our narrative is a beautiful accident.
And one day, when she grows up to become a mommy herself and call you every night for some guidance here and there on parenting, you might want to look at this post and smile silently to yourself 🙂
Love,
Soumyaa
I hope when that day comes I listen and let my children find their way while still offering a safe haven for their worries and fears, hopes and joy. Thank you for such a sweet prophecy.
You’ve captured the sincere feeling of regret well, tempered by the acknowledgment that there is no undoing a wrong. We can only promise to do better.
Visiting from the yeah write weekly writing challenge.
Thank you. You struck the tender chord of helplessness, moments are lost and consequences linger. Of course, even parents are permitted to error.
I wasn’t aware of the connection to the challenge, what a lovely surprise!
Learning your parents can make mistakes is a hard lesson; sounds like she’s going to be ok thanks to you!
Thanks! Owning my errors and acknowledging perfection as an impossible standard, I hope, teaches my children to walk bravely through their own mistakes.