When Loving Gets Tough

One night, roughly 20 years ago, I sat propped up on pillows in my bed, my head leaned against the headboard with a baby in my arms and my husband snoring beside me.  She was at the most, a few weeks old, her fuzzy orange hair tickling the side of my cheek as I put her on my shoulder to pat her back.  She curled up in the tiniest little ball as I almost struggled to balance her on my arm.  I could feel her tiny breath on my neck, feel her warmth against me as her little body moved up and down with her breathing.  I remember distinctly closing my eyes and committing that moment to memory.  I decided right then and there that no matter how big she got, I would always treasure that little moment we had together in the darkness of my room while her big sister slept soundly across the hall and I struggled to keep my own eyes open.  It was the kind of sweet moment that only comes rarely in a lifetime, and somehow, I  had the wherewithal to recognize it for what it was and store it safely away in my mind so I could relive it over and over again.

It seems like with every struggle we have gone through together since that night, I have needed that sweet memory to keep me focused on who she is and why I love her so much.  In elementary school she was stubborn and resistant.  She didn't want to be part of the group.  She didn't mind staying in for recess instead of playing with other kids.  She only cared about playing with her big sister at home.  Teachers lamented about her.  "She won't listen!" They said.  "She won't do what we tell her!" they complained.  One teacher even told her that if she didn't do her work she was going to end up being a bum on the street.  They said harsh things about her, and so did the kids in her classes.  I tried to help her. Tried my best to undo the verbal damage they were all doing, but it seemed nothing I did really got through to her.  I made her dad pay for braces, so kids would stop teasing her about her overbite.  I let her color her hair and wear the styles she felt comfortable in so she would feel good about herself, but the constant negativity from the kids around her, from teachers and other parents, just dragged her down all the same.

Things would get better and things would get worse, but all through those middle and high school years, she knew she had Mom.  She knew I loved her no matter what, even when I made her mad by not giving in to her demands, she knew.  She always knew she could count on me to lift her up, to encourage her.  She always knew I would fight for her, no matter what.

She had friends come and go.  Some of them hurt her, but she always had me.  She had a boyfriend here and there, and like most boyfriends do, they disappointed her.  But she always had me.  She moved to her dad's to get a car, but she always knew I'd still be here for her.  She moved in with a guy, but she still knew I would love her and do what I could for her.

No matter what, she has always known that my love for her is unconditional.  No matter what she does or where she goes, I will love her.  She is, after all, the source of one of my sweetest memories, and I can't give up on her without giving up that memory too.

Right now she is sleeping upstairs.  Her boyfriend, who means so much more to her than I do, is sleeping beside her.  She's become convinced I don't care about her.  She sincerely believes that I don't want her around, that I only want to get something out of her for my own selfish needs.

Of course she's wrong, but no matter what I say, she'll never believe me.  I know that I have, with good intentions, harmed her by helping her too much.  I thought I was helping her find independence.  I thought I was helping her grow up and learn to take care of herself, bur what I have really been doing is keeping her from her full potential.  She needs a chance to be on her own and figure things out for herself, just like I did.  It's just that I haven't let go of her the way my parents let go of me.  I know it would be for her own good, but true to my selfishness, I have wanted to keep her as my little girl for as long as I could.

I woke up this morning all tearful and sad because I know today's the day I have to talk to her earnestly and try to let her know that I love her, but I'm setting her free.  There's a whole world out there, just waiting to teach her who she is and why she's important.  It's not my job anymore.  I realize all I can do is love her immensely and be here for her when she needs a mom.  I know that she doesn't need me like she used to.  My worries for her are something I have to own.  I have to let her be free to make mistakes and learn from them.  I have to be strong for her and with her, and I have to finally send her on her way, out into that big scary world.  It didn't eat me up, and she's far tougher than I ever was at 20.

I just hope she never forgets the importance of family.  I hope she will remember that I love her always no matter what, even though I can't support her lifestyle.  I hope she won't forget that she has a big sister who loves her and worries over her.  I hope she will remember the little brother who adores her and looks up to her so much.  I hope she knows that, even though he has been the one to make the toughest decisions so far, her dad still loves her too.  When all else in life fails her, I pray she will be able  to always return to our arms for comfort.  I pray she will always be able to acknowledge our love for her, and that she will not abandon the thought that we are always here for her.

I know she must live life for all the good and bad it brings and that like me, she will have her own battles to fight.  I don't want to see her struggle, but I know that struggle is necessary to a good life.  I can't protect her from it without denying her the joy that comes from overcoming it.

I can only love.  It is all I have to give her now, and I can only dream it is enough.