Letters Written in White Read Online Free PDF Page A

way he has with me. The problem is…I’m certain I’ll love him for all of my life. He’s not just my husband. He’s a part of me. I don’t know how to accept no longer being a part of him.
    “Please make the appointment, Riah. Okay?” he urges on.
    I just nod. It’s a lie of course. I won’t call. I’ve been there, done that. Sometimes sadness isn’t just a feeling, it’s an existence. This is my existence, and there’s not a doctor who can change that. I’m defeated and I know it. Realizing I’ve been defeated is nothing less than traumatic. Seeing more and more of myself wash away is a process I wish upon no one. I might be alive, but on the inside I died when my depression was born. No matter how many times the sun rises and sets, I no longer feel its warmth upon my skin. I see it, but all I feel is coldness.
     

     
    I’m getting the kids ready for school and an idea occurs to me. I’ve often worried about one or both of them growing up having the same struggles I’ve had. Even as a child, I can remember a certain type of sorrow within me. My self-esteem was always lacking, and I never want them to think that way of themselves.
    “I want you to look right here in the mirror and repeat after me,” I tell Desiree and Devin.
    “Why, Momma?” they say, angling their heads upward to look at me.
    “Because I’m going to teach you a new thing. I want you to do it every morning when you finish brushing your teeth. It’s kind of important. Okay?”
    I pull Desiree’s wild curls back and wrap a ponytail holder around it.
    “All right, are you ready?
    “I’m ready, Momma,” they say in unison, smiling.
    “Good. Now repeat after me. I am brave.”
    They look at each other and then in the mirror, grinning.
    “I am bravvvve,” they say in perfect unison.
    “Next say, I am strong.”
    They smile even wider. “I am strrrrrong.”
    “Okay, now say, I am smart.”
    Desiree twists her body from side to side, and her rosy cheeks brighten while Devin’s shoulders straighten and he looks confidently in the mirror. “I am smart.”
    “Okay, this last one is really super-duper important, so pay close attention. I want you to put your hand over your heart when you say this one.”
    We all three place our hands over our hearts. They’re waiting patiently for what I tell them to say next. I feel like such a fraud saying these things about myself, but I know they’re true for them. They were once my truth as well. As I stand here and look at our children in all of their innocence, my heart breaks a little because things can change a person so much over the course of a life. I want so much for these beautiful little humans I gave life to, so much more than what I’ve become.
    With our hands over our hearts, I say, “I matter.”
    “I matter.” Desiree looks up at me and asks, “Momma, what is matter ?”
    “Yeah, what the heck is that?” Devin says.
    I squat down and get eye level with them.
    “When you say, I matter , you’re saying your ideas, feelings, and who you are as a human being are important. Never forget that.”
    What they don’t know is how easy it is to forget. Still, I never want them to forget as easily as many of us do. As children, they love to play pretend, getting lost in whimsical ideals and flowery fairy tales. The saddest thing is that we pretend as children in order to stretch our minds, and as we age, life closes our minds to all of the wonders in the world. We grow up with everyone telling us what to be, and then we’re surprised when, as adults, we have no idea who we are. For every round peg society forces into a square hole, another brick is laid, building the walls that will eventually close us off from the possibility of living with purpose and passion.
     

     
    Every morning when I walk Desiree and Devin out to catch the bus, I smile and wave at the other parents. It’s the neighborly thing to do. The other mothers and fathers smile and wave back, many with their