My Daughter

This year I will celebrate my 46 birthday. For some it won’t seem like a milestone but for me it demonstrates resilience, determination and the ultimate focus and freedom.

As I write this I am sitting in a cushy robe and waiting for my appointment at the spa. Some people need quiet and I feel the need to start writing to ease the pain in my soul.

The sound of the fire beside me, mesmerizes my thoughts and changes my breathe to a very slow, inhale and exhale. Exhaling all the wounds and scars, exhaling my self doubt, exhaling my fear.

Many many years ago I was hurt, like everyone else. Relationships change, the people you thought you knew are not what they seem to be and the clarity and focus you learn becomes all you have to move forward. I buried that hurt, and now years later I have it waking me up, hitting me in the face as though it just took place.

This time of year, 23 years ago I found out I was pregnant. Not something that was going to happen to me, I thought; not because of choice but because of body mechanics.

At the age of 16 I had my doctors appointment and was told the likely hood of that to ever happening was nil. Imagine my surprise when I found out I was.

The catch was the journey was going to be one of aloneness in my head, my world was not going to be what I thought, but it became better, I just didn’t know it then.

23 years later as I find out that my daughters biological father passed a little while ago, I am breaking open the cookie jar and working though all my emotions and challenges; removing another bandage, and working on sealing that gapping wound.

The wound of abandonment; being alone on the journey of growing life, building faith that I could provide for her, building a future for the two of us and being blessed with more family than I thought would happen.

It was the start of my outline, like the preparation for how my novel would end, how I wanted my journey to end.

I was picking my ending first; choosing what I wanted for those ten little toes and ten little fingers. Holding her hand and knowing I would do anything for this little one. I was going to be brave, I was going to keep moving forward and I was going to give her the best that I could.

It challenges me that she never met him, (his choice), that the choices he made still have consequences for others and that I can’t just get angry at him because he won’t hear the words I have to say and it would just make me feel worse.

So let me try it this way. Regardless of how angry I was, how hurt I was, how disappointed I was in you; I’m going to forgive you.

I’m forgiving you because you didn’t get to see those moments of true love from her; the unconditional love she taught. Her first steps, her first piano lesson, her first soccer game, her first day of school, her graduation. You never saw how kind and incredible she is, how smart and intellectual, how trustworthy and friendly.

Your choice to not make her a priority built a bridge for someone else to be there. Someone that can proudly wear the badge as father, someone who may not share the same blood, but shares the same tears when she is hurt.

I forgive you for failing her, because there were others who helped pick her up. I forgive you for choosing a different life and missing out as you will never know all that it means.

I forgive you for abandoning us when we needed help because it made me stronger and more determined than I ever thought possible.

I forgive you for making me guarded and for the walls my husband had to break down because it made our marriage strong.

I forgive you for not trying. I forgive you for keeping family from her, from hiding her, from running away from responsibilities.

Today I forgive you but I also forgive myself. I forgive myself for the guilt I felt every day you never made contact. I forgive myself for judging every decision I made. I forgive myself and release myself from the prison in my mind.

I thank my husband for being her dad, for merging families, for showing us that our blended life could be great and challenging.

I thank him for the patience he had when I struggled with my hurt. I thank him for letting me grieve in my way now and for understanding my pain that became fresh and raw again upon finding out about your passing.

I thank those that helped me raise this incredible human, and those I know will watch over her when I am not there.

I thank God for blessing me for the journey, for giving me an incredible gift. I thank my daughter for molding me into what I was suppose to be; her Mum.

Love and forgiveness from The Woman in Process

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