Letters to Leon, Vol #3
These thoughts have been collected over time. Each is something I felt was important or useful to you. Sometimes, it feels like I am writing you a poem. Often, it feels disjointed or flighty but all of it is heartfelt and true. More than anything, I hope these words bring you comfort now as well as whenever you need it What does fragile mean? As insecurity, it means needing reassurance It means not feeling prepared for the inevitable changes It means feeling that the darkness can come whenever it wants but you can't know when or for how long It means waiting indefinitely It means having to work - always - to maintain your balance I do want you to know that I miss you. That I want to tell you that frequently, but I don't because of self-preservation and it feels likes torture. So, I hope that the letters, texts and books help you feel less uncertain. But, fragility is part of the process. I think it is always there. I came across a post of Facebook that I felt compelled to transcribe to you. Someday, I'll look up the name of the author to give credit...in the meantime, here it is: "Words can do incredible damage, but they can't hold a candle to silence. Often, the words that are withheld leave the greatest scars. It is that terrible silence that deals the hardest blow by those who claim to love us." Somewhere along the line you were denied something you needed to live; something destination-altering and hope-giving that you deserved. At some point on your path, someone should have encouraged you, but refrained. They should have defended you, but chose not to. They should have said something - instead of nothing. Someone should have told you that you are beautiful far beneath the surface, to that you didn't grow up believing that you were defined by your waistline or by a scale or by the affection of someone else who may have cared far too little for you. Someone should have told you that you are MORE than your worst mistake, so that you weren't still imprisoned there in that spot of momentary failure so long after it; still stuck, trying to undo something that could be undone and believing in made you less than. Someone should have told you that God was not angry with you so that your faith was allowed safe passage to grow and fearlessly move toward the one who made you and adores you without caveat or condition; the One who delights in you just as YOU are. Someone should have told you that it wasn't your fault; so that you were relieved of the wasteful, crushing burden of what you were never meant to carry. Someone should remind you that you are a once-in-history collection of atoms and color and sound. To never doubt, even for a second, your inherent worth and the beautiful mark you made in the places where your feet have landed and where your heart has settled to work. Someone should have told you that you are forgiven so that you didn't cling to a vicious grudge against yourself which pronounced you dirty and so you were not tried again and again for the same crime in the court of your own head. Someone should have told you your sadness is not a sickness so you could have allowed yourself to grieve fully; to feel and speak the depth and breadth of your pain, instead of burying it daily beneath a brittle façade of ok-ness and pretending you were not devastated. There is more to tell you, and more to write as well. I will write more. I hope this helps for now. Eternally yours, -Her