My Dearest Daughter

My Dearest Elira,

I would like to think that you have gone on a trip with no email or phone communication and I am just writing to update you, to give you news, to tell you about us, about here. But the pain you have left behind is too much for words, my lovely, too much to be written here. The despair and the destruction are hard to explain with just a few words. We have breathed and walked this earth without you, yet, with you and your absence every minute of every day.

I am writing today, my love, to share some news, news which you were supposed to celebrate with me. In the worst year of my life, the year my body separated from yours, I reached the goal I worked so hard to achieve, I got tenured. I started graduate school when you were just one year old. I would drop you off at daycare and then I would go to class. I watched you from the window and sobbed because I couldn’t leave you behind. You grew up while I was pursuing my lengthy degree. When I took my preliminary exams for my PhD, I had to travel from Colorado to Washington and stay for a couple of weeks. I left you behind with your dad. But you and I, we couldn’t separate for too long. You got physically ill from my absence. I hopped on a plane and came home. I washed and braided your hair, we watched movies, I held you tightly until you closed your beautiful eyes. Then, I went back and finished my exams. When I finished my degree, you were so proud of me. You were so proud when I got my first job and when I finished my book, even though that meant I had spent less time with you. You saw me through it all, the doubts and the insecurities, the hard work and the satisfaction. I remember when I told you I had another book contract in November, two months before you left, you told me “Not again, woman. We won’t see you for months.” I was just months away from finishing it and we had plans to go places and do things but mostly to just do what we did best which was to spend time doing nothing, together, being silly and dreaming up things only we could dream. Here I am, Elira. The envelopes with congratulatory messages piled up on my desk but I can’t find you. I can’t find your beautiful face, your proud look, your smile, and your beautiful arm I squeezed every time I got excited.

My daughter, I don’t want you for a minute to think I am alone. The hallways of Stillwell and beyond at Western Carolina University are filled with angels that flap their wings as they walk through. I hear them from my office as I type, and read, and sit. I hoped one day my colleagues would teach you but now they are teaching me, about compassion and love, about strength and support, and about our humanity. I couldn’t have done it without them, not this year, not ever. So many people got me here, so many built me up, taught me, guided me, and now they are still doing that as I figure out who I am without your physical presence. I am grateful, my love, that I do not walk alone. Current and former colleagues, new and old friends, close and distant family members, they are all here, honey, they are all helping me breathe without you, breathe without my Breath.

I don’t know that I can ever close letters to you because I am always with you and I know you are always with me. Thank you for teaching me compassion and love even in your physical absence. Thank you for softening my broken heart and for allowing light to enter my darkness.

Always Your Ma,