Listen to Your Heart

Life has gotten to be one big series of going here and going there, and before I know it, I always run out of time to write. I miss it, but I have found other ways to be creative and express my feelings. Often through the eyes of my daughter.

At the end of every day, we try to ask Miranda to tell us her favorite part. That usually leads to a story or two. From there, other stories take form. We do the same thing before bed some nights. We set out a series of cards and have them aid in telling us a story. The imagination of a six-year-old is quite expansive, and she has a lot to say if you know how to listen.

I say "know how to listen" because while I always hear her voice, I sometimes do not listen to the context. There are only so many "mom, mom, mom, mom" prompts that I hear before I just nod and agree before I realize Miranda is putting something on the belt at the grocery store or trying to convince me to buy her a boa that she simply must own. I hear her, but I do not always HEAR her.

Miranda started first-grade last week, and we had such a fun time doing a photoshoot in the driveway before the bus came. We are so proud of her. Her milestones and accomplishments feel like "wins" to us, too. I know they are hers and she has earned them, but we burst with pride nonetheless.

I can't help but wonder what our lives would be like if we had a third-grader in the house, too. So much of Miranda is like me, even though there is no shared biology. Would Allie, who had my blood running through her veins and my curls upon her head, also be like me? Would she be more reserved like Gary? Or would she be like her sister, because so much of who you are is who you are raised to be?

Alas, we will never know. And that pain never goes away.

We were at the beach this past weekend with some family for a last hurrah of the summer. My sister-in-law overheard Miranda tell a complete stranger that her sister had died. I have to assume the stranger saw Miranda and her cousin in matching bathing suits and asked if they were sisters. It breaks my heart that at her young age, she knows so much about death. My sister-in-law said Miranda was very matter-of-fact about it and did not at all seem bothered. So that's a plus.

At the end of the day, we are who we are. And we are who we were meant to be. If we are not, we make plans to change it. In the meantime, I have to hope that the foundation we are giving our girl is solid enough that she can determine who and what she wants to be when the time is right. I also hope that I can take a small amount of credit and a large amount of pride in whatever path she chooses. I just have to make sure to listen to it all. Her hopes, her fears, her dreams, and hopefully, just a few tears.