A Boxful of plushies

Letting Go with Love

Dear Daughter,

You left a lot of little things behind when you moved away. Echoes of your childhood, pieces of who you were. We didn’t mind. We enjoyed revisiting your art, your schoolwork, your baby teeth and retainer, your vast collection of Yoshi plushies, and other odds and ends. These things reminded us of you, of who you once were, of a time when you were younger, when we were a happy family. So many golden years! It was such a privilege to share your childhood with you, to watch you grow up. And these tokens of a time gone by are dear because they represent you, and you have always been so incredibly precious to us. 

So, we held onto these things, protected them, cherished them, in case you ever wanted them again, or to keep as mementos of the child you once were. But as the years have passed, I realize they don’t mean to you what they once did. Your old art, an embarrassment to you now. Your childish toys, forgotten, unwanted. Figures and SWAPS and collectibles, discarded. Rubbish. 

As a child, it was difficult for me to hold onto the things that I cherished most. From age five, I had to move at least twice a year, every year, and had packed up and left 33 places by the time I married your father when I was 20. I’ve lost all but a few of my toys and childhood belongings, but what I managed to hold onto is very precious to me now. Perhaps only because I have lost so much. People. Pets. Places. Memories. 

Even you, my first-born child. Though you are still alive, I’ve had to let you go, as well. 

It was so important to me to put down roots for you, to give you a neighborhood and friends that grew along with you, so that you had that anchor of stability in childhood that I lacked. We bought our first house when you were only a year old, in large part because of the pressing desire I had to give you all that I never had: a stable home, a loving family, and a devoted mother. 

I sincerely made being the best mom possible my life’s goal, and I took my responsibilities as your mother very seriously. I know you know this and were aware of how unique our closely knit family was. That didn’t happen by accident. Your father and I carefully and intentionally wove that together. For you. 

I realize that, by contrast, you were able to collect and retain absolutely everything you had, which in itself can be overwhelming. It’s okay to let parts of ourselves fall away, to outgrow who we once were and move along the path of life. 

I keenly remember reaching age 12 and no longer wanting to play with my Barbies every day, of having this sense that I had outgrown my beloved dolls, and with that, a sad awareness that I was growing up. I packed them away into a suitcase and lost them during one of our many moves. I was distressed when I realized they were lost forever, but I had to learn to let things go from an early age. I had to let my parents go when they ran off chasing alternative lives in my early childhood. I had to let my grandma go when she passed, leaving me to fend for myself at age 10. I had to let childhood go much too early. And so, I desperately tried to protect yours. To give you all the time and space you needed to become whomever you were destined to become. 

I understood the multi-generational rift that exists within my own family. I believed it was my responsibility, my calling, to do all that was within my power to mend that rift, to be the bridge, to forgive the unforgivable and reunite my own family, and your father’s as well. So that our children wouldn’t bear that burden. So that you could have the loving and attentive grandparents you deserved. So that we could invite absolutely everyone to our children’s birthday parties and holiday gatherings with an open heart and true hospitality. 

That was my ideal, and the example we modeled for our children. We showed you how to make space and still set appropriate boundaries for difficult kin. We taught you by example that it was better to have those difficult conversations than to let anger fester, and that reconciliation is impossible without forgiveness and communication. We taught you better than this.

It’s not okay to treat your parents as if we were merely toys that can be outgrown. You can’t pack us in a suitcase and donate us to a thrift shop to lighten your energetic load. You will carry us with you forever, though you may remain unconscious and carry us deep within your shadow. We represent who you truly are, where you came from, and the support system that got you to where you are today. We are your history, your foundation, your culture, your ancestry. We are flesh of your flesh and bone of your bone, your blood, your kin. When you dishonor us, you dishonor yourself. When you treat us as disposable, not even worthy of your time or empathy, you display your own lack of character and kindness.

We were kind, loving, supportive, and always good to you. We were everything parents should and can be, and I challenge anyone who bore witness to our lives to testify otherwise. We were also young and poor and navigating our own childhood traumas and challenges, and yet mindfully setting an example we felt would honor God and lead our children on the path of righteousness. We did everything in love, and I know you know my words are truthful. 

You have chosen a life path that will only continue to take you further from those who love you most truly, further from truth, from peace, from sovereignty, and from God. We mourn the loss of your presence in our lives, but more so, we mourn the person you have become. And your behavior, which is shamefully not reflective of the way we raised you. 

I don’t understand how the daughter I was once so incredibly close to could estrange herself from her own parents and go on, pretending we don’t exist. It’s so cruel. Too cruel to reconcile in my mind.

Today marks the one-year anniversary since you sent the “no contact” text. Since then, every holiday and birthday has passed, as we grieved your absence in our lives. Our beloved dog has died, your grandma, and now this dreadful date will also remain seared into our lives as a perennial reminder of the betrayal and loss and profound grief that we feel. It hurts my heart so much to watch your dear father mourn the loss of his daughter, his dog, and his mother on his birthday, which is immediately following by this “new anniversary.”

How does one forgive such a selfish and cruel child? I made excuses for my mother on behalf of her own trauma and mental illness, but you have suffered none of that. You were pampered and cherished and beloved by all. I suppose ultimately it is my fault, for permitting you to believe the whole world revolved around you merely because mine did. 

How do you sleep at night? Is your heart so hard, so wicked, so cold? 

Perhaps this boxful of Yoshi plushies will help? I cannot discard them as casually as you have discarded us. 

Also please find enclosed a “time capsule” cd of files you deemed necessary to back up to disc at one point, including a lot of your early art, music, and inspiration. And a pair of thigh high scrunchie (80’s style) leg warmers that I crocheted to be a Christmas gift for you, but never sent. You may dispose of the contents of the box as you see fit. 

But I remain,

Eternally yours,

Mom