Dear Emily,
I want to begin with an apology. I wish I could articulate it more profoundly, more clearly, and with greater depth. I find myself saying “I’m sorry” countless times each day for various small reasons—whether it’s when you stumble on the playground, when I forget to bring you a snack, or when I have to deny you something you desire. Each of these everyday apologies hides an even larger truth: I’m sorry that you only have my embrace to rely on right now.
You deserve a family that mirrors the others we encounter in our daily lives—a father, a mother, and a child. Those families seem so perfectly balanced, while we sometimes feel as if we’re teetering on a fragile edge.
While I navigate this challenging journey, the pain I experienced is beginning to fade like a scar transitioning from a bright red to a softer silver hue. The losses I felt have started to feel less like endings and more like opportunities for new beginnings. However, I know that for you, some of these losses will remain with you throughout your life. Regardless of which parent you are with, there will always be a part of you yearning for the other half of your family.
I often reflect on how much you bear the weight of this situation. You are the one who loses the most, and that realization fills me with sorrow. I can’t help but weep when I think about the moments we’ve shared.
Just a few weeks ago, while we strolled to the park hand in hand under the warm sun, you asked me about your siblings. In that moment, tears welled up in my eyes, and I felt a constricting sensation in my throat. How can I explain that you may never have full siblings? That you might not experience the joys of siblinghood? I’ve had to learn to release all my hopes for unrealized futures, letting them slip through my fingers like sand. I aim to build something resilient in their place, and I’ll help you come to terms with these losses too. As you grow and become more aware of the world, I’ll need to be prepared to answer your questions about siblings, the reasons behind having two homes, and why your parents live in different places.
You are an incredible child—radiant, intelligent, and filled with kindness. You easily declare someone your “best friend” after just a few minutes. I have no doubt you will thrive in life. You exude strength and are surrounded by love, and I trust that you understand that. There are many children whose parents are not together, so you are not alone in this experience.
This narrative is not unique; however, I never envisioned it would be ours. When I held you for the first time, I never anticipated that this would be your reality. Each night when you curl up beside me or when I pack your suitcase, I see you struggle with the notion of separation. When you ask if I’ll be with you, I feel the weight of not being able to explain it clearly. I wish I could do more than just apologize.
I hope that as we continue on this journey, we can foster a strong bond, even from a distance. I strive for our family to remain stable, even if our connections are stretched. My hope is that this experience never feels insufficient to you. I desire for us to become more than the sum of our parts, to reach a place where I no longer feel the need to fill the void with apologies.
I hope that one day the goodbyes will come easier and that we will evolve into a family that feels whole, not like a makeshift assembly of love. I wish for you to have siblings, or at the very least, to cultivate relationships with friends, cousins, and a vibrant community that can fill that space.
You are doing well, sweet girl. When you wake from nightmares, I rub your back and reassure you. I see your breathing slow and I watch the soft glow of the night light reflect off your peaceful face, and I am reminded of the love that binds us.
I’m sorry… I hope… you are okay…