Letters to my Daughter: September 2, 2020

I've entered my late 30's alienated from your father, his family, raising you on my own with infrequent visits from him. He uses you as a prop to impress his girlfriend. No more phone calls and quick messages from Gigi -- It's the two of us against the world.

I have a power within myself that carries me through everything untouched. It glows within me when dealing with your father. I imagine myself as fine mist being pushed through the air like white ribbons, bouncing off of everything I touch, making no purchase with the world around me. I'm flexible and unknowable, building momentum toward something larger than myself. I respect myself more than needing to hold onto anyone, being your mother has taught me that.     

You are so beautiful. Your hair is a dark caramel that cascades around your face. You are obstinate, a big personality, and always knows what you want and how you want it. You love sitting with me in silence. We fall asleep together with the ceiling fan twisting air down on us and a small night light on the dresser. You give me, the darkness outside, and your red panda named Kitty ten kisses each before going to sleep. You show me how to give you a loud hug and munch on square crackers in a bowl on the bedside table. You ask me to hand you your juice. You show me every day my capacity for love and patience.

I was seeing a young man we both adored. He had four great children and came from a good Colombian family. He was funny, talkative, brightened a room by walking into it. He installed our ceiling fans and bought me black iced coffee. When I was around him I felt pure joy. I took in his mannerisms, the smell and feel of his skin, the way he walked so resolutely everywhere he went. I told him about my letters to you and he told me it was beautiful. He asked if I wrote about my favorite fuck buddy and I withered. Later on he told me he was seeing someone else and I felt my whole body go cold. He reassured me we could still talk and grab coffee later. He wasn't ready to be a parent to someone else's kid. He didn't want to hurt me, but in spite of the safe distance I kept from him I felt myself dissolve back into a white ribbon to be slowly carried away by the breeze.

I haven't had the best of luck or judgement with intimate relationships. Mercurial at best, I've floated and bounced against dozens of people who have come to mean different things to me over the years. Your father's favorite insult, apart from calling me dense and ignorant, is confused victim and reminding me I don't "stimulate" him. It's been over a year since he's been a relevant part of our lives, but he brings it up in an effort to do harm. I float above him and feel the air push through me and carry me at the same time. You can't hurt something you can't touch. After all these years of being acquaintances, it's the one fundamental thing he's never understood about me.

I'm talking to an older man we both adore. He helped us move into our new home. He checked in on me when I was so overwhelmed and stressed I was convinced I was going to cough up blood. His voice is soothing and I find myself doing anything and everything to keep him talking. I feel everything pour out of me like verbal vomit. Whenever you see him your face lights up and you run into his arms for a hug. I feel the hug too. His smile is genuine and kind. I've never felt so seen and understood. His words embrace me more intimately than anyone else has physically and I'm left frozen in place. I'm worried I'll ruin it for you by being myself, but he still invites us over for supper and is always happy to see you.