My Gifts


My Gifts

They are my woobies. My baby blankets, my favorite stuffed animals, my lovies, my pacifiers, my protectors, my good night songs and my good luck charms.

I don’t know when what I am supposed to be for them became what they are for me.

I don’t know when their spirits started filling the cracks that were in my own.

When “she’s beautiful” became “I’m beautiful.”

When “he’s brilliant” became “I’m brilliant.”

I don’t think it’s good or fair or right to use their lives as caulking for my own.

But, what do you do when their life’s spirit is the most beautifully brilliant piece of work you’ve ever created?

You give it to the world. They are them. I am me. Each life unique. Each its own.


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