An Open Letter to the Daughter I Don't Have

Dear Grace,

You were in my dream last night, baby girl.

I'm not going to tell you that you don't exist. I'm not going to point out the very real possibility that you might never exist. I refuse to dismiss you as a figment of my subconscious, over-active imagination.

The world has already done enough of that. I promise.

Instead, I am going to tell you that you're beautiful.

If you ever glance in the mirror or smile for a quick photo, your grin will be so bright I'll have to wear sunglasses to shield my eyes. Just kidding, I never wear sunglasses. But I will make you wear them. Because that's what parents do: protect their little ones from the dangers of this world. Including UV rays.

Oh, Grace...

There were years I dreaded your arrival.

I wanted to be free and unattached; children seemed like a handicap to that unbridled freedom. Anything that required even a modicum of responsibility was a chore, in my opinion. Not a blessing.

Then, there were years I eagerly anticipated your arrival. I wanted it so badly that I'd wake up crying. Everyone else was married; everyone had moved on to the next stage of life. I felt like I was watching a parade from my bedroom window. Or, perhaps more accurately, watching my own funeral.

Smile, baby girl. The story gets better.

See, I realized there are different paths in life. Not everyone travels in the same straight line, and that's ok. You entered my life via the beaten path, the trail with a Weeping Willow on one side and a briar patch on the other. I wouldn't have it any other way. I always loved a good adventure.

When you're older, you will see how special you are. For now, just remember that there is nothing accidental about you. I had plenty of time to evaluate whether or not I was ready for you. Trust me, I did a lot of soul-searching. Three decades' worth (...and counting).

People have children for many different reasons. A friend once told me that her kids were her legacy. They were her proof she had done something meaningful with her life, and her way of solidifying a place in eternity.

Grace, you are not my legacy.

You are my treasure, and you are loved more than you can imagine. But you were not born because I needed a guarantee that someone would take care of me when I got old. You were not born to ensure that my life would extend past the day I took my final breath.

You were born for so much more than my wants or my needs. Thank God.

Speaking of God, I promised Him that I would name you "Grace." Because you were an act of mercy; I never could've done anything to earn you. You were a gift.

I'm glad I saw you last night. It was a dream, so the background was fuzzy...but you were clear & sharp. Bright red cheeks, and a big Italian nose. Just like your mama.

If you ever read this, it will be proof of God's love.

Conversely, if you never read this, it will also prove God's love. The timing and outcome not for me to decide. We'll see, little one. We will see whether you exist someday or not.

Either way, it was great to meet you. Even just for a moment.

Love,

Lisa