Intention of Completion

Hey Mum, I've never told you this before, but there's a part of me that believes I was born to make things right with you. Like maybe a little piece of your birth mother's soul broke off when she took her last monoxide filled gasp. Trapped itself in the ether that connects us and waited until I was born to implant its apologetic intention within my being.

Because I feel it mum; the need to be beside you, the drive to protect and nurture you, the desire to celebrate you - it's all there fueling each thought I have of you. Granny once told me 'your parents are not your responsibility', but what if you are mum? What if I hold within me a miniscule part of who created you?

Genetically of course I do.

Logically, I am a product of you, who was birthed by the woman I feel within me too.

That's not what I quite mean though...

It's her guilt for leaving you. Her pain for giving you up. Those sensations beat heavy upon my own heart. And I know most people don't believe in reincarnation, most people now think we are flesh and blood, dust and consequence-less action. Yet fifty-seven years ago when you were lying in an incubator alone and distraught, I was there with you mum, even just as a ripple in time. The pain you felt? That's also mine.

If I could I would go back to that confusing, lonely first year of your life I would embrace you through it all. Your pain is my pain mum, let me burden it no matter how big or small.

When you tell me of how you met her, years later, wiser, older, the sensation you describe snakes along my own mind. Hairs raise on my arms as you tell me how the air changed when she walked down the stairs toward you. Chills tickle each part of my skin as you describe the fuzziness that entered your vision as you took her in.

We know you are somewhat magical mum, your three adult children can see you exist partially in the mystical like some forgotten medicine woman. When you tell me the moment you met held a certain kind of energy, pieces of an invisible puzzle slotting into place, I feel it too. I suppose you're lucky no-one is around to call it Voodoo.

So yes, I've never told you that before, but I'm here now and I will not be leaving you, will not be giving you up. You have a grand-daughter now who will learn to live and laugh, to love and trust. And she will not be leaving you, she will not be giving you up. That slither of soul will drive us forward, that hereditary tether will heal us three-fold. As my daughter grows I already know I will do everything possible to keep strengthening the lessons you had to burden. We will teach her, you and I, that we are bound together to atone for the pain which still ripples through time. Through love and through comfort we will reverse what once was, replacing it with something concrete, infinite and strong.

Even if this sounds unfathomable, I know in my heart there exists a piece of your birth mother. Not the whole soul, not the entire being, but her drive to make things right. A powerful intention for completion. An unyielding sense of unfinished business. Eyes that want to see that 'everything turned out okay then'.

And now I hope they can peacefully shut with every flutter of your granddaughter's heart, knowing that it was your strength mum that pulled beautiful flowers from the dirt.

With All My Love And Gratitude

Your Daughter