1. Just in Case

 Dear Pragy,

I have wanted to write to you this past month about things an Adult-you might want to hear from the adult-Me that I am now, if that makes sense. The specter of death that hangs over all of us is very visible over my head the last few years, and I often imagine your life and struggles without me by your side. If that did come to pass, I would have addressed my death to you here. It is often the only thing we can do- trying our best to address a problem. My death before you grow up enough will be a big problem for you, also for me naturally, because you and I are so close now. I am 37, and you just turned 8 last month. The dates are not important. My dad died at 63, and I still haven't processed it after almost 5 years. As I am sure you would not have, after however many years have passed since I have passed.

It's all a gift!

Yesterday, as we sat doing our own thing in your room, you mentioned suddenly, "I sometimes feel so alone". You are a precious, sweet child and super smart to boot. I took a few minutes to think that over - a happy child of eight given to introspection, observing her loneliness. It was macabre for me, your feeling the loneliness I have felt all my life. In your case, I suddenly realized you're experiencing bullying and racist attacks from your classmates and have since the first grade. You are now in the third grade and I have been sick these past years, but that shouldn't be an excuse. I am so sorry for failing to see and failing to help. 

You at eight are much wiser than most adults I know. You ask deep questions about everything. Why do we treat each other like this? I think it's just the nature of our species. We are mostly experimenting with our limits and seeing how far we can go without being punished. That's probably how babies learn not to touch everything, for fear of being hurt, but also to understand the nature of this world. Your classmate bullies are not particularly bad children, merely very unhappy children. The ones that like seeing you sad are probably very sad themselves. You know Amma has brain issues- in the last two years you've seen me very sick, yelling with abandon and then weeping uncontrollably, getting triggered by the slightest of sounds- by the TV, by your brother yelling or your dad singing. He really is the worst singer I know! I also hope that you  remember some of our good days together: girls' days out, reading or singing together, our nightly conversations or discussions about nature and science. Do you ever remember me being nice and happy when I was sick? No, because, usually, I knew I was sicker because I was angrier. 

Listen to your emotions. They are the engines that take you someplace. Bad emotions also take you somewhere. In my case, my anger and rage told me to keep pushing until someone told me what the problem was. In your case, I hope you stay the same beautiful, healthy, smart darling girl forever, but life happens. Life never promised us constant happiness; that would be unacceptably boring. Instead, life promised possibilities- good, bad, ugly- everything life gives you is a gift. Even a sick mother, even bullies at school, even a dead mother writing to you from before. It's all a gift. I hope the teenage you or the adult you that's reading this letter knows how much you're loved. I hope to tell you every day. I sure hope I showed you every day.  

All my love,

Amma