If there is one thing I will tell my daughter when she can understand, it will be that some morning you will wake up and it will be clearer.

Some morning you will open your eyes and see the ceiling and know today will be different. And the change won’t be one that everyone can see, but you’ll feel it. Rather, you’ll feel less. Less of the burdens, less of the pain. And in the end understanding is a lightweight to carry. She can come with you in whichever bag you choose.

But you won’t get up right away. You’ll probably lay there wondering what to do now with your freedom. Usually, this is what people do the morning after they mourn. And if she’s anything like her mother, she’ll take a little longer to let go. I’m not sure what she’ll cling to. Maybe it’ll be a shiny looking friend, a shiny looking man, but whichever, it’ll be a shiny looking illusion. Because we’ve always loved those- they look so beautiful filled with orchid and hours of our time.

I won’t guilt trip you, because I’ll understand then too. That on those mornings when you wake up and feel as if getting up will mean shedding your skin that you’ll want to lay in it a little more. Just to try and figure out why it never felt foreign before. And that’s ok because everyone takes their own time.

Everyone does.

And as daughters I think we should have been told as much. That there’s no schedule for mourning. That love and learning happens usually without much say from us. But that there are days when you’ll wake up and see it so clearly.

You’ll see that you deserve to be given orchids, time and truthfulness. That you deserve friends who understand what a friendship is. That you deserve to wake up every day eager to do work that fulfills you. That you deserve to be angry at the universe sometimes. And that you are allowed to fall asleep with tears pasted between you and your pillow, although that’s not the way I wish you’d go to sleep.

But I will understand because I’ve passed through this space before. Many times. So much so that I knew where to grip the walls to hold myself between. But don’t admire that familiarity, don’t emulate that part. Because getting to know pain too well can take away thing, piece of you and your fingertips shouldn’t become this worn. You should know better. Not because I think my experience will be enough for you, but because loving you I know it’s what you deserve. Better.

And that when days like that come, on those mornings, I think you should smile because they don’t come often. But they can change this whole thing called life.

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