Jaci Dawn

Your anniversary is coming up this week. Six years. I want to wish you a Happy Anniversary, but I don’t know how to reach you – and I can’t say I like the person you married. Nevertheless: I hope you have a good anniversary. You never needed my approval for who you chose to be your life-mate. I hope you understand that.

I wanted to be present when you got married. I remember letting you try on my mother’s hand-made wedding dress and you looked so pretty in it. You took it home. I thought that my husband would walk you down the aisle. I think that was the second-to-last time I saw you. The next time I saw you, you had been married for a few months and I convinced you that I needed to bring you a wedding gift so you made time in your day to accommodate me.

You returned some items of mine, but not the wedding dress. I should have asked after the dress. It was my wedding dress as well. I didn’t know it was going to be the last time I would see you in person. I didn’t know I was a trigger for your anxiety. I apologize for that.

You were emotionally destroyed before you ever came into our household and I wish I had known what to do with your pain. I tried to let you direct our steps: did you want counseling? No. Did you want to talk? Some. Should I treat you like my very own child? Yes.

But those were not the real answers, were they? You needed counseling. You needed to talk to someone other than me. You needed to be treated differently than our cousins. You were lost, abandoned, alone, defiant. I tried to set the bar high but you wanted me to set the bar low. And now we both are lost to each other.

I want you to know that I was always proud of you. You made your way without asking for much help. When you did ask for help, I tried to be there, and while I may have been irritated at the choices you made to get you in the situations you found yourself in, I was proud that you found the courage to ask for help in getting out of those situations. You were the child who had to learn the hard way.

I have respected your need for distance. I respect your choice of mate, of lifestyle, of boundaries. But I want you to know that I miss you. I miss your sharp humor. I miss your critical observations. I miss your smile.

I did not know you were so damaged. Your little brother and sister are damaged, too. No one should lose a beloved mother at a young age and have to be raised by strangers. I want you to know I did my best, but I understand it wasn’t enough. I didn’t have the understanding or the resources.

I am not going to carry that guilt to the grave. I have forgiven myself, even if you never forgive me. I will love you forever, even if I never hear from you again. Your cousins – your brother and sister – told me to let it go. And here I am: telling you that I love you, I forgive you, I ask for your forgiveness – but I am letting you go.

These are your choices now, not something I have done to you. I wish you a happy anniversary with the man who has chosen to stand beside you. That’s it, kiddo.

Shalom.