Tonight I sat on my daughter’s bed as she shared the heartbreak of losing a friend. No her friend is not dead, at least not clinically. She is dead in many other ways. She keeps people out, like my caring compassionate daughter. She is dead in the way that she believes everyone should look out only for themselves and not let anyone in. She is dead in her isolation, her cutting, her inward pain that she has walled off from herself and others to the detriment of my little princess’s pain. I hate it. I hate seeing her in this much pain. I hate that she is not in a place that I can protect.
So I sat there on her bed tonight, thinking of the day she was born (an emergency C-section). I held her in the hallway and cried. I told her I would take care of her, play games with her, dance with her, do nails and hair with her. I told her I would always be there for her. And as I held her in my arms tonight, the tough guy cracked and tears poured down my face to match her tears. We held each other. We cried together. And somehow, this eased her pain and I felt like I had done something. Not sure what. But I know one thing.
Tonight I cried.
