DEAR DAUGHTER,

The instances when my adorable granddaughter leaps into your loving embrace, I’m transported to another time. One where you, perky pigtails bouncing and hazel eyes shining, clung to my being, wanting nothing more than to sink into my lap and be loved.

The moment my smart as the dickens grandson, darts to your side for a hug and smile, I close my eyes and remember long-ago days when your brother dashed toward me, yellow bowl-cut hair flying, a brilliant grin flashing as his arms stretched and encircled my legs with a fierceness.

Entwined, my babies and I snuggled tight, and as my nose pressed into silken blond locks, sweet baby scents swept me to a place of pure contentment and joy. An avalanche of kisses pecked at pink cherub cheeks, and words of mother’s love fluttered to delicate ears.

Ah, the memory of this beautiful place beckons, and I long for it to be so again.

The remembered treasures are tender and precious, and though my face wears a smile, melancholy hovers and steals my peace.

In the present, as a Christmas tree stands tall for adornment, the delectable aroma of cookies wafts through the house, the grandkids scurry from one toy to the next, I gaze with intent at this scene straight from a Norman Rockwell painting. Chatter, giggles, and love abound, and all are oblivious to the torment pecking at my being.

With the glorious holiday season’s hustle, bustle, surrounded by astounding blessings, my memories arrive and refuse to abate.  This heart breaks to go back and snatch those by-gone days with my little ones.

The pain bubbles from pools of reminiscence, but the most intense suffering is born from the fact, my daughter and son have no such recollections. The cherished flashbacks are mine alone.

The unshared sentimental snippets of nostalgia whip and slash the soul open to create a hidden hypersensitivity undetected by those within inches of me. An unthinking word or action and I plummet into a silent hell.

A divorce from your father sent us down separate, lonely paths that chipped at our kinship to near annihilation.

Today, I am welcomed, not as a mother, but a “special” friend.

Oh, for the what ifs, the should of, would of, could of. Alas, —.

No choice exists but to accept the position you designate, yet this takes time. Acceptance is slow to arrive for though you do not recall, thoughts of you and your brother as babes and the bonds we once possessed come swiftly to my mind’s eye.

A friend I’ll be, but in my heart, I will forever remain your momma.

XXX’s & OOO’s