You came to me not with a cry,
But with a silence that split the sky.
The world stood still as time held breath—
My child, you danced too close to death.
One moment—a shadow.
The next—miracle breath.
A flicker, a gasp, a battle begun,
You rose like dawn when there was none.
They fought with hands and hearts and will,
And you returned, so small, so still.
Not perfect—no, but purely true,
My life began again with you.
You did not bloom like other flowers do,
No race to run, no skies to blue.
Your steps were slow, your gaze unsure,
But oh, your heart—so wide, so pure.
The world measured you in inches missed,
In words not said, in moments kissed
By silence…
But I?
I saw galaxies dance behind your eyes,
Heard lullabies in your quiet sighs.
You would not write the same old tune,
But you hummed in key with the gentle moon.
When music played, your fingers stirred—
No speech—but every note you heard.
A gaze at me, and I could feel
The kind of love that makes you kneel.
Some say “delayed,”
Some say “not quite.”
But child, you are my northern light.
You burn not fast, but endlessly,
A gentle, sacred mystery.
Your brother learned to sing with signs,
Your mother sang to match your rhymes.
And I—I grew in ways unknown,
Learning to love from bone to bone.
Each day with you, a soft undoing
Of pride, of haste, of worldly viewing.
You cannot run, but you arrive
In every room—soulful, alive.
You cannot write, but you inscribe
Love in our days with sacred vibe.
When your hand finds mine without a cue,
The world aligns—simple, true.
I watch your eyes chase birds in sky,
Not with envy, but a wondering sigh—
You teach us all to be, not chase,
To honor slowness, to embrace grace.
You taught me fear and then release,
That shattered hope can birth deep peace.
You showed me joy that breaks in light
Not from perfection, but from fight.
Your battles aren’t ones others see—
But each breath you take, you rescue me.
They called you "less,"
But they don't see
The fire inside your quiet plea,
The sacred thread you weave each day
With laughter strange and sideways play.
You have become the root and rain,
The balm to our unnamed pain.
You made our house a place of prayer—
Not one of words, but of shared care.
Daughter, you are my second birth,
My lesson in the weight of worth.
No trophy child to place on shelves—
But a mirror asking us to delve
Deeper into what we mean
When we call a soul “whole,” “bright,” or “clean.”
I do not wish for things undone,
Nor mourn the child you never were—
You are my star, my tethered sun,
And in your eyes, I see what's pure.
If love had limbs, it’d look like you—
Imperfect, sacred, always true.
And though this world may not quite see
The depth in how you came to be,
I do.
We do.
And in the hush before each sleep,
I thank the angels who chose to keep
Your breath on earth, though faint and slow—
A soul we weren’t meant to let go.
So here you are—our fragile flame,
The girl who never played the same,
Yet filled our hearts with something more:
A love unmeasured, rich, and raw.
Daughter, dear daughter, you redefined
What strength looks like, what love can find.
And if I had to choose once more
Between the safe and you—
I’d open the door
To this wild, wondrous, sacred ride—
With you forever by my side.
No comments:
Post a Comment