From a Father to his Daughter

Dear Madeline,

When you were first born I was scared shitless.  I sat with you in the hospital room, alone, for an hour or more while they stitched your Mum up.  I wondered “What the hell have we done?”.

You were lying on my chest, very small, bundled in blankets.  You looked up and regarded me with huge, calm blue eyes that said “Don’t worry Daddy.  I know…”

It seems you did too, because over the next few months love for you grew inside me until it seemed to fill every available space.  That was totally unexpected.

I remember a life before you came along.  It had good bits in it for sure, but nothing can compare to the calming joy I have always felt just spending time with you, no matter what we happen to be doing. 

You barrel through my days like a little sunshine cannonball, warming everything you touch.

At night your snuffly breathing and small (but growing!) body curled in mine for warmth soothes fears and makes me smile as I sleep.

The things you give me may be intangible and hard to describe, but they are no less real for that.

But parenting seems to be a constant process of letting go – from the little things like dressing yourself or wiping your own bottom through to big things like letting you fight your own battles and find your own friends – so you can Become.

I am incredibly grateful this process takes place slowly, day by day.  If it had to happen all at once I don’t think I would be strong enough to do it.

We are on separate roads, you and I.  We must live our own lives.  This is right and good.  Our paths will meander along together – weaving toward and away from each other as we both find our way in the world.

But they will never be as close as they are now.  It may be right and good, but that does not mean it is easy.  The temptation to hold you close, protect you from everything and keep you with me forever is incredibly strong; but, like crushing a butterfly in your grip for fear it will fly away, would ultimately destroy the very thing I am seeking to preserve.

So, while we are here, in our quiet together space, let me tell you a secret…

Way down deep in my heart I have a room.  It is warm, cosy and dim.  It has a comfy old chair in it. 

The walls are lined with shelves and they all hold boxes, full of special, heartfelt memories.  I visit whenever I can to add new ones or just rummage through old ones, sitting happily in my comfy chair for hours sometimes.

One box looks like all the others (perhaps a little less dust), but I never visit without opening it at least once.  It is uniquely special, this old cardboard container.  Whenever I open the lid, what is inside spreads a magical, golden glow around the whole room.  It lights up my face and reflects in my eyes.  Why?

This is the place I store every memory I have of you.

The past is gone.  The only place it exists now is here in this box, and that makes it precious indeed.

Everything is in here.  Carrying you to the end of our street to watch the diggers before you could walk.  Dropping stones in the grate in the gutter.  Teaching you how to change batteries in your toys.  Bouncing on the trampoline.  Swinging you until we’re both dizzy.  Just little gems, but so lovely and so many!  I am a lucky man.

No matter how long our roads, and how far from each other they are at times, I will always, always have this small box of treasures tucked safely away – and that is a comfort as I go about the process of letting you live your life as the bouncy, gleeful, stubborn, kind, thoughtful, loving and fiercely independent young lady I know you to be.

One day (hopefully after a VERY long time) this old heart will cease to beat.  It happens to everyone and it is inevitable.  I don’t think it is fair but that is another story entirely.

Now, when those boxes fall away and the memories they contained float off into the ether – becoming no more than whispers to entertain spirits – your memories will burst forth with such a light my chest will glow, warm and gold.

Whoever is there – doctors, nurses, strangers – will wonder what is going on!  They will have no idea.

…but if they ever ask you, or I am lucky enough for you to be there holding my hand when it happens – you can just regard them with your huge, calm blue eyes and tell them

“Don’t worry, I know…”

All my love Sweetheart,

Daddy.