As published on Elephant Journal
I have avoided writing about my daughter, because the depth of both the love and the fear I have for her is so tremendous, sometimes I don’t think I can contain it.
I cannot grasp it, I cannot shape it, and I certainly can’t define it. Her entirety is so intertwined within mine, that sometimes I feel I am just a vessel for my love for her. That I never existed before her, and that I would cease to exist without her.
She grew within my body. I knew her soul, before her body began. My chest is too fragile to keep my love barricaded within me.
And the fear–-God, the fear.
For her to know harm, or suffering, or any of the myriad experiences that cause humans pain—I cannot even dwell on the surface of them.
I would protect my child with my life, but even that causes me fear. Because although I would suffer the greatest pain imaginable, so that she might live—for her to live without me also causes me anguish.
Who, but me, will love her properly and fully?
Who, but me, will teach her to know all of herself?
Who, but me, will spend endless hours planning for her to have the best life possible?
Who, but me, can hold her with every single fibre of my being and pour into her the deepest of sacred love.
The fear—I cannot imagine it
The love—before her, I could not imagine that either.
My magnificent daughter, if I do nothing more with my life, you are enough.
You are, and always will be, my greatest accomplishment—my greatest pride.
You fill me with light—you are the source of my courage and the reason I will never give up.
I offer my life to you, with the deepest amount of joy.
I am your mother—and my goodness, but I love it!