My Final Kiss

I stood in that doorway blinking back the tears watching her five year old, little, bouncy self walk away from me. 

Did I do enough to prepare her? Will she remember our special hand signals? Will she remember one blink means "no" and two "yes"? Three means I love you.

Every single cell in my body wants to run beside my playful little girl, to hold her hand one more time, kiss her pretty, pink cheeks one last time as she is snapped into the seat of her father's car. 


"Don't," I tell myself, "your tears will scare her." She is blissfully unaware. Her young, budding brain hasn’t been able to thread it all together. Let it go. Let her go.

Let your only child walk away, hand in hand, with that man. The man you married against your better judgement, against your gut. The man you left, with just the clothes on your back and your child on your hip. The man who robbed you of your twenties, breaking down any sense of self-esteem and self-worthiness you ever had. The man who used you as a target for a decade. 

Will she be the same person if I can't be here? Will she receive the same education? Will she remain the gloriously even-tempered person she is or will she morph into her father? 

We have documents, we have papers, we have agreements. Yet, the courts have already failed me. Can I trust my parents will have an active hand in raising my precious little gift? I certainly cannot trust him to raise the little lady I have carefully crafted in my mind, in my heart, in my womb. 

Yet, standing in the doorway, I realized I have done all a tumorous mother can do. Love, care, nurture, teach, discipline, provide, affection, love, love, LOVE. And prepare. 

I prepared myself, my family, my smiley, giggly kindergartener for life with me and life without me. I have left detailed instructions just in case... in case I can’t talk, in case I can’t move. In case I am no longer here. I have left instructions for those who will listen.

I have no control over her father. There are no promises between us. They have all been irrevocably broken. So there, in that deep, cold crevasse between us lies my faith. I surrender my thoughts and tears to a Faith which will guide my daughter’s father to parent in a manner worthy of my child. 

Blinking, I watched, waved and blew love filled kisses, while her little mary-janed feet pattered quickly in an effort to match her father’s gait. Holding his hand, she glanced back, smiled and caught my final kiss.

I’ll see you on the other side my darling baby girl. Wherever that may be.