The Way We'll Be

A letter from me, to my Mother, just before I was born...

Mom,

   I know, I'm late; I've needed every bit of these last forty weeks, and ten days, to prepare for what lies ahead. Thank you for your patience and for understanding I like to take my time to think about things. I wasn't supposed to, but I peaked a few times to see what's in store for us, and while we're on our fourteen-hour parade through labor, I'd like to share with you some things I've come to know...

First, I know I'm going to be an only child. I know your marriage will not last long enough to give me a sibling. I know I will have a very difficult childhood and I also know that you won't enjoy Motherhood for very long, before your marriage falls apart.

Mom, you won't be the only one who suffers through this. I will feel alone a lot. I will be alone a lot. It will be isolating and confusing being raised in two separate households, living two separate lives, with two very different people and two sets of beliefs and rules around food. I may need a lot of therapy from a young age and it will take me time to access my thoughts and feelings and this may be frustrating for you.

Mom, I'll have a hard time on the playground, relating to my peers. I will find it easier and safer hanging out at the 'grownup table', hearing very grownup things. This will no doubt take away from the potentially carefree, spirited and simple qualities of my childhood, yet, ironically, I will spend a great chunk of my career life working with children and finding bits of the childhood I missed, through watching theirs. And because I will have an extensive background and comfortableness with older and wiser generations, I will be successful working with parents and several of my closest friends will be considerably older than me. This will make me a better friend, a more compassionate human being. All will not be lost, Mom.

Mom, one of my favorite pastimes will be looking at old photos of you. They will remind me that you are every bit as human as I; that you've had your own youth and that there was a time I was not with you or even a thought in your mind. It will be important for me to acknowledge this and it will help me better understand your reasoning for things, especially when you have trouble understanding mine.

Mostly, I'll love to look at yours and Dad's wedding video and album, often. I will spend rainy days, sunny days and several birthdays looking at this album, secretly trying to piece together what went wrong for you and Dad in such a short amount of time. I will, on a deep level, understand your divorce, AND I will also long for the family structure I will not have.

Mom, I'm going to feel disappointed in you, a lot; you won't be able to drop me off at many extracurricular activities. I won't see you at many of my recitals and talent shows, because you'll be working. You won't know the names of the parents who's children I hang out with and this will bother me. Alone, I'll walk to and from school everyday, wishing I was dropped off and picked up like everybody else. Your being a single mother will heavily impact the love you are capable of showing me and the love I'm able to feel from you.

You need to know that my relationship with food will heavily reflect my relationship with you and I will struggle with disordered eating for many, many years.

And eventually,

my relationship with food and my relationship with you will heal and I will navigate my way through recovery. Only then will we build trust and genuinely enjoy one another, and it will be clear why we couldn't have that closeness any other way, at any other time.

Mommy, it's been really fun in here; I really love how happy and upbeat you are. I love how much you like to move, except when we took that giant spill off the stage, while you were teaching Jazzercise, at seven months pregnant. I get it; sometimes we're just so excited, we forget where our feet go...happens to me ALL the time! You're very loud and you have a weird accent and you eat lots of chocolate. You laugh a lot and this helps sharpen my nervous system so much.

Mom, thank you for sharing your space with me, for taking such good care of me and for wanting me so bad. Thank you for letting me wiggle and twirl and flip and kick and dance with you. Thank you for letting me take my time.

Mom

I'm so glad I'm yours.

I like you,

I adore you,

I love you.

Also, just a heads up, I accidentally pooped just now and my cord is wrapped around my neck so I'll probably need our team to come and get me soon...

Love,

Erica

My Daughter Dreams of India

*A letter from my Dad to the Universe*

To whom this may concern,

I write to you this evening in the hopes your infinite wisdom can help me. My Daughter, Erica, will be traveling to India tomorrow and there are some things I need you to know, before she embarks on her first journey out of America...

The night before Erica turned eighteen, she was very upset. Her tears fell hard and fast, as she told me how scared she was to turn eighteen. She realized that in the eyes of the law, she would now be an adult and she was afraid. What does being an adult mean? I asked. She said it meant I didn't have to take care of her anymore; that I could throw her out on the street, if I wanted to. That I could abandon her, legally. She said if she accidentally broke the law, she'd "no longer qualify for Family Court" and she'd most certainly be tried in criminal court. (She's so cute.) She said being an adult was a huge privilege and she couldn't imagine herself taking on such a responsibility. She felt that from here on out, life would blindside her, ambush her, hurt her.

Before Erica was born, I thought of the things I'd be afraid of as a parent; how I'd be able to financially support the lifestyle I wanted to give her, how safe she would be in her car seat--which I tested fifteen times before she was born, by slamming on my brakes, almost giving myself a concussion.-- I had all my fears and concerns in check, but I never considered what my Daughter would be afraid of. What would be the things that keep her awake at night? I didn't know she'd have an innate fear of being abandoned. I didn't know she'd come to believe she is unworthy of love and belonging.

I listened fully and attentively to my soon-to-be-eighteen girl that night. I assured her that only good things can come of being an adult. I told her life is never just thrown at us. I said that as opportunities and responsibilities come, she'll already be ready for them. I said, Life is gradual. Life is a process. She took a choppy deep breath and said, Okay, Dad. I believe you.

Two years later, I died. And life for my child was not, as I'd promised, gradual.

Although she was thoroughly heartbroken and in excruciating pain, I wish I could say I worried for her; that I thought she couldn't survive without me. But I didn't. My Daughter knew exactly what she needed to do and she's done it. She sold our house and made a new home for herself by the sea. She went to school to earn her degree. She's easy with her love and sees the gifts and power in her vulnerability. And now, she's going to India, with her best friend, Hailey. As a parent, I couldn't wish for a better travel buddy.

Erica often feels afraid, yet she keeps showing up. For every doubt that she is worthy, she takes at least three new chances. For every moment she believes she's forgettable, there are ten people who can't imagine life without her, and they tell her so. She is sensitive and tough. My Daughter is very much interested in life. That's who she is. That's my girl.

So, Universe, for this adventure, my wish for Erica is to abandon the mental and emotional ways she's kept herself safe. May she let go of the relationships, the fears and the beliefs that have kept her small, and gently take down the walls she's put up, protecting her from being heartbroken, the way she was when I had to leave. I want her to ride the elephants and do the Yoga, as she's been saying. I want her to allow this once in a lifetime adventure to wash over her, around her, through her. Mostly, let her laugh; it's my favorite sound.

Tell her I'll know she's arrived safe and sound, because I just know those kinds of things. She must know that I am with her, that she is my front row seat at her Talent Show. She needs to remember that she is not OF my greatness, she IS my greatness. She is expansive, brave and authentic in ways I could have never been.

Tell her I am always accessible to her and always have been. Show her that in life, the only way out is not through, but rather, in. Remind her not to worry what to do with her life, but rather what her life is doing with her. Emphasize that she's always had everything she needs to not only survive, but thrive. Also, please remind her to drink bottled water, check in with her Mother and don't talk to strangers.

Thank you for taking care of my little girl.

Sincerely,

Larry Jacobs