Open Letter. You know who you are...

Dear Monkey-Muffin,

I am so glad that you are getting the chance to do this. I know it is really hard for you, it would be really hard for anyone. I don't want you to shove it all down anymore. You are allowed to have feelings. You are not weak because you hurt.

It is hard to see you go through this, it was hard to see you sink into a depression and not be able to help you. I love you so very much and I want you to be able to be happy and to smile without a lingering sadness behind it.

I knew that your Mom was going to die, even though it was hard to believe, and I was terrified of it for so long because I didn't know what was going to happen to you when she was actually gone. Then it happened and I was terrified because you didn't freak out, you didn't lose your mind. I knew it was all inside of you, being shoved down over and over again.

I know you were scared that if you quit running, it would take hold of you, and, you would never be able to function again. I think you even said once that you were afraid that if you let yourself feel just a tiny bit, if you opened up that door, you would fall on the floor and be a total pile and never get up again. Well, guess what? You quit running, you are looking it in the face and you are still here, you are still okay. I know you are sad, confused, angry, scared, lonely and probably a bit bored, but you are still breathing, still functioning and you will be fine. I promise.

Look at what you are doing! You left the safety of everything behind. You quit running, you quit shoving it all down.

Yes, I will admit, I am a little scared for you, I don't want you to have to deal with it. I don't want you to have to feel the intense pain you are feeling, but, I see a pot of gold at the end of this rainbow buddy. I really do. I see you really letting go of some things, really reflecting on who you are, who you want to be, who you can be. You are so amazing, I wish you could give yourself what you have given me over the last few years.

I want to know who you are at your very core. When I met you, your Mom was dying. I have never known you without that burden. I wonder which parts of you are different because of that, I wonder if none are different.

If I could give you anything it would be total serenity. I would take that shiny little serenity, place it on a little fluffy chunk of organic cotton, and put it in a small wooden box with pretty gold hinges. I would show up, unexpected, and present it to you with both hands, with my head bowed down, with tears of happiness streaming down my face. Oh, my friend, if only I could give you that. If only.

Love,
Breakfast Sandwich