Letter to my daughter

Be assured that I love you,
I have done since day one.
I am proud of the person you are today
and of the woman you’ll soon become.

You have many gifts and talents,
too numerous to count.
You’re growing strong, kind and beautiful
both on the inside and the out.

Your creative spirit and energy
give joy to those you’re with.
May you continue to be giving… generous.
May you choose wisely how you live.

Sweetheart, when I’m no longer here,
reflect on these words I say.
Use your wisdom, love and patience
to guide you when you lose your way.

For life is like a journey.
It’s cliché, but it’s true.
Often we make silly mistakes,
but we can learn important lessons too.

So, move forward, don’t harbour regrets.
Laugh, cry, hug. Express yourself.
Tell people what they mean to you.
Look after both your physical and mental health.

Remember that you’re loved and cherished.
Never take for granted these simple things in life.
Often a moment of appreciation
can uplift you in times of strife.

Darling, be an encourager,
don’t belittle, mock, nor judge.
Instead, help others who aren’t as strong as you.
Forgive quickly. Don’t bear a grudge.     

Be inquisitive, hardworking, diligent.
Gather knowledge. Seek the truth.
Continue learning throughout your life
in old age, not just in youth.

Have adventures and keep exploring.
The world is yours to discover and appreciate.
Experience and enjoy new cultures.
Show respect. Don’t allow your heart to hate.

Be a tenacious, vibrant woman
who strives to make our planet a better place.
Don’t be afraid of what others think.
Choose friends wisely. Act with grace.

Yes, have confidence, but humility too.
Fight intolerance, injustice and apathy.
Use humour to make others laugh.
Take time to listen. Be honest. Show empathy.

My darling, you will face many challenges
in our complex, chaotic society,
so remember that when the going gets tough,
have faith. Believe. Trust your own identity.

Your exciting future lies ahead of you and
if you use your gifts abundantly,
you’ll be an empowered, warrior woman,
the very person you were born to be.

The invisible thread

Hearts beating, yours with mine.
Self-consciously holding you,
small, but sturdy babe.
Frog like foetal position.
New-born’s doughy feet,
knees folded, flattened to my front.
Feeling faint, sweating palms,
sudden somersault stomach.

A celestial connection sparks.
No one knows, not even you, yet.
Tendrils sprout, beginning to unfurl.

The invisible thread.

London’s streets shine.
Buggy splashing through recent rain.
Eyes gleefully gleaming under
spotty, speckled winter hat.
Content to be pushed, held, loved.
Up, down. Play park, museum, restaurant.
Through streets. Around leafy gardens.
Coffee in cafés. Cake and cuddles in a cosy corner.

Connection fuses and increases.
Now perhaps you know.
Shoots lengthen, bud and bloom.

The invisible thread.

A long journey homeward bound.
A lonely beaded bracelet in your place,
a vacuum where only moments ago
you dozed, lulled by whirring tarmac wheels.
Quiet replaces sing-a-long rhymes,
subdued silence descends.
Damp mascara cheeks. Limbs loose.
Throat choked, twisting tissues.

An inconspicuous cord,
mutually tangible, defying distance and time.
Slim strands grown thick and strong.

The invisible thread.

Salty, sticky fingers and sun cream kisses.
Bobbing on lilos. Bat and ball. Body board clutched
by bold ‘Queen of the Ocean’.
A howl of dramatic despair as sand
between toes tickles and itches.
Disaster soothed by towels and treats,
swimming costume and ice cream.
Time melts on beach hut lazy days.

Connection glows, fed and anchored.
Congruent, confident memories.
A thousand strands weave silver spirals.

The invisible thread.

More duvet cuddles at dawn.
Languid chatter, sipping tea, sharing my space.
Keen to be close. My hand held.
Reassurance, trust.
Eager energy bright and curious, quick to question.
Homework completed to a perfectionist’s standard.
Hair styles, searching for socks,
packing for riverside picnics.

Interconnection clearly communicated,
a synergised glance, a mirrored gesture.
Tendrils now deep roots, tenaciously entwined.

The invisible thread.

Wrapped gifts reflect Christmas lights,
rattled then hidden for treasure hunt quests.
Riddles and jokes. Entertainment and games.
Role-plays and drama.
A rehearsed duet couples the aroma
of roast, pudding and candles.
A ridiculous dance to disco classics then
mellowed by Aretha’s authentic refrains.

This connection, a bond like omnipresent
lithe laced arms, a continual current
flowing freely, fluidly, ‘twixt you and I.

The invisible thread.