D ear Daughter

I am writing you this letter because I want you to know.

I want you to know how excited I was when you were born. Then when Mommy and I found out about your syndrome we were devastated. We had no time to prepare emotionally for it; it was a sudden shock. We decided to love you and raise you like the rest of your siblings. You were our child and we would treat you as such.

I want you to know how I cared for you. Though I kept an impassive face I was shattered inwardly. No one will ever know of the many nights I cried into my pillow making sure that Mommy didn’t hear. No one will ever know of the many tears I shed in the safety of the car while driving on the highway. I begged Hashem to help you. Every day before I came home I hoped I’d discover that you’d made some progress. But I’d walk in and see you simply lying there without moving much and my heart would constrict with pain. I couldn’t even afford myself the freedom of sighing. Mommy was watching me and I needed to keep up a strong front for her sake.

I want you to know that I love you. When relatives started advising about alternative placement for you I was filled with righteous indignation. How dare they?! I loved you dearly and I didn’t want to give you away even as it got more and more difficult to have you home. They all wanted to know how Mommy would accept the idea. No one cared how I’d react to the idea; I was supposed to be the strong one with no emotions. The mere mention of the idea got Mommy all worked up. I got the punches from both sides — from Mommy for daring to bring it up and from the relatives because I was “standing by idly and allowing my wife to fall apart.” All because I loved you so!

I want you to know how much it hurt me to place you with a different family. When there was no other option when it became too difficult emotionally and physically we found a wonderful family to take you in. The car ride felt like a funeral procession; we were burying our unrealized dream of raising a healthy daughter. The atmosphere in the car was thick with emotion. Mommy was free to cry openly and I as the strong man was again left to choke down the tears and try unsuccessfully to swallow my pain. I had no shoulder to cry on; I had to leave that for Mommy. I had to carry your bags to your new house while holding my head erect. Boy was it painful!

I want you to know that I still love you. Whenever I come to visit you I wish I could take you home. I’d love to just walk out with you and belt you into the car for the ride home. Each time I visit you my heart breaks anew. The unprocessed grief rises up like acid and it burns in my throat. I smile at you I laugh to amuse you while inside I’m weeping. How I pine to have you rejoin our family.

I want you to know that you’re a full member of our family. We never gave you up and we never will. You’re our beloved child and we talk about you all the time.

Dear Daughter how I wish that one day you’d be able to read this letter. Yet I know that in all probability you’ll never be able to do so. Still I had to write it. I had to share with you these feelings deep inside that I can share with no one else.

Be well my dear daughter.

I love you

Tatty

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Issue 654)