Dear little mama, I wish you could comprehend how much I want only joy for you. I wish you understood that it hurts me, or us, or them, to watch you cry. There’s a time for everything, but the ratio for those things doesn’t have to be equal, does it? Dear little mama, I hope you know that you’re not the only one hurting. Maybe that will only hurt you even more, to know that other ache with your sorrow, but please learn to take comfort in the fact that you are not alone. Those who notice your habits are only going to attempt to help you (however misguided their attempts may end).
The way you smile through puffy eyes and furrow your expression just enough for me to catch onto your thoughts? These don’t slide past. You think about her, and when I’m paying attention, I can tell. You hang on to every little snippet of her life, like a lifeline. Little mama, you think about her, and the pain that manifests on your face is unlike anything else. That is the worst of the pain you bear currently, I think – the loss of a child.
Dear little mama, do you think we do not notice the little, subtle stress lines that crease your forehead whenever you talk about your marriage? do you think we ignore the slightly-too-loud laughs of Currently Socializing mode, and the slightly-too-quiet sobs of Broken mode? You’re heard by the people who don’t matter, who can’t make a difference – now to speak up to those who can.
Dear little mama, you’ve lost your father, but not your Father.
You’re probably thinking about how I should never shoulder any of this, never feel like I need to worry about you. You’re probably considering all the ways that you can reassure me that you’re fine, that you’re healing. You’re probably thinking about the fact that maybe this worry was your fault.