This may be the last one of these that I write for quite a long time. During the time since my MIL showed up unannounced in your life, your mother has called me twice. The first time to talk to me about what had happened (all seemed like it was okay – you were a little startled, but managing the “shocking news” okay). When I asked her if I could send you a CD with pictures on it from the time you were with me and the card I handmade for you on your 18th birthday, she said she thought you would like to have them. My heart was brimming with unbridled joy – now you would know how much I loved you.
The second phone call was yesterday. She said she had talked to your father and they had decided you shouldn’t have those things. She asked if I had already sent the items and if I had addressed them to you. I said I had because she had given me permission to do so. I would have never sent them if she hadn’t said yes. She said, “Ooooooooh. We will have to watch for it because we don’t want to complicate her life any more than it already is.”
And then my heart fell to the floor in a million tiny shards. I knew then they may never give you the letter I spent countless hours writing, the card I carefully crafted, or the pictures that would tell you of how adored and cherished you were as a tiny baby.
After the called ended, a cry from the deepest recesses of my soul poured out. I sat in the rocking chair, clinging to your little 8-week old sister like a life preserver as I sobbed out loud over and over, “Dear God, please let me stop loving [Ms. Feverfew]. Make me not care any more, just make me not care.”
I was awash in a sea of pain as exquisite and intense as any I have felt during my lifetime and I was being swallowed up by it. Tears streamed down and fell on your sister’s head for what seemed like hours. When I put my hand up to smooth my tears from her downy hair, I came to understand that I need to let you go completely, totally, and without question for the sake of the children I have with me. They need me – she needs me here, now, and in the flesh, not in some imagined future capacity. It was then that I realized any hope for some kind of relationship I might have harbored in the corners of my heart were in vain. According the the L.D.S. religion, you will never again be my child in any way, not here or in the eternities.
I will always love, I will always care…I just cannot hope any longer. And these letters represent hope to me so I may not be writing many more of them. I cannot get over this but I need to figure out how to get around it. I know I cannot be whole again but I must mend the pieces that are left behind.
So I lift you up and turn you over to God, if there is a God. There is nothing more I can do for us, nothing more I can say. What I can do is get on with being fully present for the children who are with me and to let go of this shadow-sister of theirs. They deserve that and so do I. I am just not sure how to do that but perhaps I can figure it out as I go along.
Much love and belief –