Help Her Understand What Kind of Day She Had

I just want things to be right for her—

I don’t care if she has hard days or sad days because that is part of life

it’s part of being human and growing.

But I want her to be able to tell me— 

I want her to be able to know for herself, 

what kind of day she had. 

I want her to know what she is feeling—

Imagine not only carrying the weight of your feelings  but not being able to understand them—

not knowing why you are scared or why you are sad

while also feeling out of touch with your own body–

What do you call this feeling?

On the bottom bunk I have a child who told me all about his day–every little detail and on

top bunk is his quiet sister who only gave me a glimpse in the language of her body–

Imagine people prompting you, modeling for you, speaking for you, turning you—

All the time—

All the time–

How exhausting that must be for her— not 

understanding why someone is frustrated with her again—

to feel that you are always doing things ‘not right.’

To play catch up all the time because you are always

a step behind still processing what was said to you.

To hear someone speak about you as if you

were not even there.

To become prompt dependent— 

stripping that independence from her— 

and what she really wants to do? 

Touch the sand and watch it in the light— push through thick towering grass— grab and squeeze her little brother’s face in joy–count dragonfly sitting on shimmering rocks–climb trees and throw her rainbow paper airplane down at me–

I would be exhausted too–

the difference is 

that I know what to call this feeling— 

Hurt.

Deep hurt.

It is the hardest feeling— 

knowing that she cannot. 

Swimming through this noise— this 

Loud, roaring world— watching other children 

do things with such ease and not understanding why she cannot.

Just wanting to fit in–

always falling behind.

You can put a bandage on a bloody scrape- 

clean up a wound and kiss it better— 

In that screaming static– in this epic roar of noise–

I want her to know just

how much I love her—I want her to wake 

up and understand and for things to become 

easy– so much easier for her. 

I’d move mountains and I try— I really do— 

To make quiet for her— until then, 

I’ll catch her paper airplanes 

and help her understand what 

kind of day she had–

hoping always

that it was the best.