As Good as It Gets

Most of the time I fight through the day, knowing tomorrow is a new day, maybe even a better day. I have people I trust. People who will hold me until I am reasonably sure I am not going to shatter into little pieces. Pieces so small there will be nothing of me left. Then a day like today comes along.

Today I listened as GB tried to convince herself that it is her fault that the people she loves think she doesn’t see what is true. Mothers are supposed to protect their children, reaffirming their worth, validating their reality. I have put all my energy into validating GB for a long time. Yet, at the core of her being, she believes her father chose Hope over her. She has no belief that it will ever be different. I reassure her that our break up has nothing to do with her. I tell her that what her sisters say is because of their hurt, totally unrelated to her or anything she has ever done. It is such an overwhelming burden for any child to carry, much less a child who is twelve, but not. FAS has damaged GB’s ability to protect herself. She can not use words to convey her reality. Her words trip and stumble over each other and she has no response when others twist them into unrecognizable shapes. She is asleep. I am free to cry the tears I couldn’t set free while she was awake and watching me.

I pray when I wake up tomorrow I will be ready to fight the good fight again. This can’t be as good as it gets.

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