When I was twenty I had my heart broken in earnest. And my mother wrote this for me. I think having a woman like her as my mother is one of the reasons I have grown resilient and grounded, but not hard, because being tough and hard means that I would be closed off to the world and the people around me, and there would be no exchange between the world and my human-hood.
This is a rough time, hard to tough through. When we first encounter a crisis, or even during its midst it’s easy to think, I can’t do this. Then allow God run the course of the crisis; we ask for His mercy.
Humanity can attest to another humanity as one heart to another. Like pain, to which every person has been acquainted. I don’t want to see my child go through any sort of pain, bodily or mentally. But even more so, I don’t want my child to be desensitized to pain because that would be a frightening anomaly.
It’s almost impossible to be spared of heartbreak; we neither welcome nor desire them yet they are inevitable, arriving unannounced and wreck havoc. Heartbreaks cause us pain; cause our growth. We never want to break up with those we love, yet the fatality of first loves is not infrequent. It’s been said that we don’t understand love the first time around, even when we think we do.
A woman bring a child into life through pain and likewise through metamorphosis, a chrysalis becomes a butterfly. Metamorphosis is agony and metamorphosis is necessary.
You have a hard time of letting go because you are dedicated and committed. You let go despite of your own suffering because you are responsible and respectful. Respectful of his decision and your own ontology.
We both see the infinite and absolute love of God and the inept and finite love of a mother. Yet there is one thing that I give you without reserve, one thing that is absolute: I will always share your pain and joy, you will always have a place to come home to. I will always be waiting for you, ready for you.