You are not my favorite person right now. In fact, you’re a bully and I’m still waiting for you to move out of my house. You’ve bound my girl for ten years, already. Isn’t that enough?
Yes, you kept her alive for a short season. Yes, you helped her cope when life bounced her from home to home those first years. I get it. But ever since then, you’ve been a loud, rude, misery-inducing squatter who’s kept my child’s heart in a vise.
All she wanted today at school was to eat her lunch in peace. But you assaulted her mind, convinced her to sneak and lie and steal–to create such chaos that nobody would see the broken heart, the fear in which you cage her.
You’ve lied to her all these years. Told her that she’s worthless, that there’s no hope and nobody she can trust, and that the only smart thing to do is to break hearts before they get close to her.
You’ve taken her best route to healing and made it her poison.
I hate you for that.
I hate that you fill her body with cuts and self-inflicted wounds. I hate that you’ve convinced her that the only reason to hug someone is to get something from them. I hate that, because of you, she is afraid of friends, of hope, of gifts, holidays, family and peace.
You are a bastard. A dark pit of anguish. A thief.
You’ve tried to rob my girl of love, and you’ve done an impressive job so far, I’ll admit. But may I introduce you to a concept? Your days are numbered. You think you’ve got her tucked away in your prison, but there is no way on God’s earth this mom will stand by and let you take her without a fight.
Yeah, you know me. I’m the one who spits in your eye when you try to make my kid despise me. The one who laughs it off and plays with her and keeps her just enough off-balance to kiss her mess of red hair and freckled nose. I’m the one who throws you off your game by telling her I love her IN the mess, not once it’s all tidied up.
You’re on your way out, you criminal, you abuser of the soul. Because all you have is fear to offer. The longer you spout empty lies and create moments my child feels damaged, the more bored and annoyed she will become. You taught her that, remember? To move on from things too soon so she’ll preempt others from taking those things from her?
Attachment Disorder, those strategies are going to backfire on you because you forgot something: MY GIRL IS A CHILD OF THE LIVING GOD. She belongs to the King of Heaven’s Armies.
Remember that quiet little moment when she prayed out loud in her room while she didn’t think anyone was listening–that moment when she invited Him in? That was your death null.
One day, whether here or on the other side of eternity, my daughter will stand up straight, look you in the eye, and hand-in-hand with her God, she’ll watch as you dissolve to ash.
“He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.” – Revelation 21:5
I’ll be there that day, so very proud of her.
. . . ecstatic to see you go.
What would you say to your special needs child’s most difficult diagnosis or behavior?