Letter: To my Daughter
Never doubt I love
I read a post the other day that said:
Bad news. You’re growing, and it’s uncomfortable.
Good news. It’s uncomfortable, but you’re growing.
To my dear daughter:
Parenting is difficult, and I would find it even more difficult if I did not have the preparations that I do as a former educator/current mental health professional. I am, for example, fully aware that there are certain obvious (and some not so obvious) needs that I must prepare in the care of you, my daughter. Similarly, I have learned that humans go through many natural stages of development that people talk about and others that are too uncomfortable to talk about. This letter is about the uncomfortable ones.
When I was about five or six, my father was a truck driver. He would be gone for a weeks at a time, traveling to auctions where he would buy used vehicles he would then fix and sell in his car lot. I remember he missed a few of my birthdays due to delays with the weather and unexpected mechanical issues. I grew up like this, and even though I missed my father, I learned to get used to his absence to the point that when he was forced to stop working as a trucker, it was difficult to have him around every day.
But I remember one summer day in particular, laying my head on his chest as he was resting and we were watching The Lion King on VHS in the bedroom. He was shirtless, and his chest hair had a combination of thick black and white hairs. I kept staring at them, highlighted by the summer sun shining through the window, and he could tell I was reflecting on something. I did not feel I could talk about it, so I did not tell him what was on my mind. The truth is that in that moment, I became aware how one day he would die, just like Mufasa. It may sound silly, but it was something that my brain was not quite prepared to process at that age. I pictured myself as Simba laying under his father’s paw mourning the loss of a father. I did not talk about it with anyone. I kept it to myself, and I kept watching the movie with a degree of sadness/anxiety.
Sometimes we gain knowledge of realities in life that we are not yet prepared to face, and it is uncomfortable. Thus, we are forced to process them before our peace returns (that is one moment when therapy can be helpful). Some of these realities are natural but are not really mentioned in psychology or developmental theories.
At some point we all begin to process our own mortality, and we periodically revisit it in a different manner as we age. As we enter new stages in our life, we revisit situations, memories, and emotions under a new light. It is a natural part of aging that begins early on, but a part of it is also instinctual. When we successfully graduate from a developmental stage, we mature, and we enter a different challenge. The secret to life is to not rush these but also not hold any of them hostage. Face the stages as they come, and be mindful of the fact that, just like they came, they will also leave.
As we enter new stages in our life, we revisit situations, memories, and emotions under a new light.
If you study biology, you will learn that the most basic function of life is to reproduce and pass on information for the continuity of life. Because living organisms are not immortal, they have an instinct to pass on their DNA and then educate their offspring to the best of their ability to prepare them for that continuation of life. I strongly believe that this is the same instinct that keeps people fighting physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I have seen people at the end of their life, drifting between life and death — the instinct at conflict with nature. To me, the notion that one living organism can pass on essential knowledge in any form is part of “The Circle of Life.”
If you meditate on it, you will realize that you are made up of the same DNA that was once a part of your mother and me. If that’s the case, you are as much her and me as you are your own person. You can even extend this beyond your immediate family, and you’ll find that in a way, all living organisms are connected, for we are all cosmic dust originating from the same time and place.
Watching you grow has been the greatest blessing of my life, but there have also been painful moments (such as fighting to keep you warm during the Texas Freeze of 2021). Another such painful memory I will never forget was hearing you crying and talking in your room by yourself. Your mom and I rushed to see what had happened, and I learned that you were trying to soothe yourself because you were attempting to process the grief of losing Grey, our German Shepherd, one year earlier. Around that time, you revisited that loss frequently and began asking a lot of questions about what happens when we die and if we would ever see Grey and our loved ones when we die. You started asking how long people and other living creatures live. Slowly, you began to process these things and started making your own conclusions based on the explanations your mother and I could muster.
I want you to know that even when I am gone, I will never be truly “gone”. You can find me in the books you read, the movies you watch, the games you play, the foods you eat, and within you in your dreams and memories. Close your eyes. Sit in peace and meditate, and you will see that I am accompanying you. I am you, and you are me. I hope little things here and there will console you, but I also hope that you realize that everything you need you already possess within you. Do not be sad when I am gone. There is no point to be afraid of that which we have not experienced or the things we do not know. Try and keep your focus on the here and now. I truly believe our spirits reunite one day, but for now, live your life as it comes, not as you want it to be.
Life is short, and life is fragile. No one life is forever, but spirit lives on. We are here for a brief time, and in the blink of an eye, we are gone. Do not mourn time lost but instead celebrate and cherish the beautiful time spent together with all your loved ones. Cherish the relationships you have built and water them like plants. Even our Earth has its own heartbeat, and it too will one day be gone.
Forever your loving dad.