I picture Patience looking like this. To my darling Patience who will never be born:
It may seem odd to begin a letter with a farewell to someone who never was born, someone who will never will be. But I needed to find a way to say goodbye to you, Patience, because even though we never had the chance to say hello, you’ve always been a part of me. You’ve been with me – the idea of you – my whole life. As far back as I can remember, I ...
expected you. I spent my life preparing for the act of being a grandmother to you. I carried the potential of you, close to my heart, and in quiet moments I have loved to savor the imagining of you. But now, through the whims of stupidity and hate it seems you are simply not to be.
I am sad to have lost the opportunity to know you. I feel an empty hollow in the place I’ve always reserved for you. After a lifetime of expecting you, I’m struggling to let go of the idea of you, and with that, the idea of us as grandmother and granddaughter. Having felt you so keenly in my life, have expected you so fully, the reality of life without you still perplexes me slightly. “What do you mean I’ll never have a granddaughter?” It’s like trying to imagine a world without the color purple. Purple has always been there; purple belongs in the color scheme of life.
I like to imagine that you would have been like your mother, but better. The best of her distilled, and improved upon by that which would have been uniquely you. You would have been precocious, and willful, and you would have kept your doting cousins wrapped around your little finger. You would have grown into a strong and capable woman, and you would have become, with the passage of the years, my friend as well as my granddaughter. We would have shared things that only us would have known about and you couldn't have shared with your mom. I would have treasured our unique relationship as much as I treasure the relationship I had with your mother. Especially the relationship I had with my own grandmother– a relationship I could only hope to replicate, as it would be impossible to improve upon it.
It may seem to be a little strange to say goodbye to someone who never was born, who never will get the chance to be born. But to me, you were as real as the sunrise, as real as the stars that shine at night. I can’t touch those things either, but that hasn’t stopped me from believing in them. But now, after a lifetime of anticipating you, I relinquish you to the stars and banish the idea of you to the speculation of long, dark nights. What might have been, what will not be. In the darkest of those nights, I think of two lost souls, you and your mother, and I wonder. I wonder if you will know me when we finally meet. I wonder if you will love me as instantly as I have you.
But now, finally, it’s time to say goodbye to you Patience, as I embrace with my whole heart the idea of spending my life missing what might have been. I’ll have to adjust my sense of self, too, my sense of how my life will unfold from here. But my heart is full, and I have more blessings in my life than I ever dared hope for because in the end I do have a granddaughter. And today on the three month Anniversary of you Patience Lynn and your beautiful mothers death I want you to know how much I love and think of you both.
Goodbye, my beautiful Patience Lynn till the day we can finally meet. Ashleigh Marie hold on to Patience tight and give her a kiss for me.
It may seem odd to begin a letter with a farewell to someone who never was born, someone who will never will be. But I needed to find a way to say goodbye to you, Patience, because even though we never had the chance to say hello, you’ve always been a part of me. You’ve been with me – the idea of you – my whole life. As far back as I can remember, I ...
expected you. I spent my life preparing for the act of being a grandmother to you. I carried the potential of you, close to my heart, and in quiet moments I have loved to savor the imagining of you. But now, through the whims of stupidity and hate it seems you are simply not to be.
I am sad to have lost the opportunity to know you. I feel an empty hollow in the place I’ve always reserved for you. After a lifetime of expecting you, I’m struggling to let go of the idea of you, and with that, the idea of us as grandmother and granddaughter. Having felt you so keenly in my life, have expected you so fully, the reality of life without you still perplexes me slightly. “What do you mean I’ll never have a granddaughter?” It’s like trying to imagine a world without the color purple. Purple has always been there; purple belongs in the color scheme of life.
I like to imagine that you would have been like your mother, but better. The best of her distilled, and improved upon by that which would have been uniquely you. You would have been precocious, and willful, and you would have kept your doting cousins wrapped around your little finger. You would have grown into a strong and capable woman, and you would have become, with the passage of the years, my friend as well as my granddaughter. We would have shared things that only us would have known about and you couldn't have shared with your mom. I would have treasured our unique relationship as much as I treasure the relationship I had with your mother. Especially the relationship I had with my own grandmother– a relationship I could only hope to replicate, as it would be impossible to improve upon it.
It may seem to be a little strange to say goodbye to someone who never was born, who never will get the chance to be born. But to me, you were as real as the sunrise, as real as the stars that shine at night. I can’t touch those things either, but that hasn’t stopped me from believing in them. But now, after a lifetime of anticipating you, I relinquish you to the stars and banish the idea of you to the speculation of long, dark nights. What might have been, what will not be. In the darkest of those nights, I think of two lost souls, you and your mother, and I wonder. I wonder if you will know me when we finally meet. I wonder if you will love me as instantly as I have you.
But now, finally, it’s time to say goodbye to you Patience, as I embrace with my whole heart the idea of spending my life missing what might have been. I’ll have to adjust my sense of self, too, my sense of how my life will unfold from here. But my heart is full, and I have more blessings in my life than I ever dared hope for because in the end I do have a granddaughter. And today on the three month Anniversary of you Patience Lynn and your beautiful mothers death I want you to know how much I love and think of you both.
Goodbye, my beautiful Patience Lynn till the day we can finally meet. Ashleigh Marie hold on to Patience tight and give her a kiss for me.
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