November 15, 2004 – Miami, FL
Dear Little Phoenix (my 6-year-old self),
Happy birthday, baby girl. I know you’re trying so hard to smile today as you blow out those candles, but I see that sadness in your eyes. I know how you’re fighting back tears because the one person who could make this day perfect isn’t here. Mama. Our Queen. I know, sweet girl, I know.
I’m writing this from a place you can’t imagine yet – I’m 26 now, a mama myself to two beautiful babies, but I’m away from them just like mama was away from us. The irony isn’t lost on me, little one.
Remember those daddy-daughter McDonald’s trips? How Daddy would let you get the Happy Meal AND the cookies, and you’d sit in those plastic booths talking about everything and nothing? Those weekend visits to the park where he’d push you on the swings until your legs touched the sky? The way he’d catch you at the bottom of the slide every single time?
And Auntie – oh, our precious Auntie. Those swimming lessons in her backyard pool with your brother, the way she’d make sure you had floaties and would never let you go too deep. The barbecues, the laughter, the way she’d braid your hair and tell you stories about when Daddy was little.
They love you SO much, Phoenix. Daddy and Auntie pour their hearts into raising you. But I know, baby girl, I know it’s not enough to fill that mama-shaped hole in your heart. That void that no amount of Happy Meals, park visits, or swimming lessons can touch.
Every night, you’d curl up in bed and whisper prayers for Mama to come home—every birthday wish, every shooting star, every 11:11 – always the same wish. And when summer came and you got to visit her, the way you’d melt into her arms and never want to leave her side… That’s the security of a mama bear, that feeling that nothing in this world could hurt you as long as she was there.
But listen to me carefully, little Phoenix: God heard every one of those tears you cried in the dark. He listened to every whispered prayer. I’m here to tell you that yes, your wish will come true. You will go live with Mama when you’re older. But baby girl, everything that glitters isn’t gold.
Those mommy issues you’re developing, they’re going to follow you, shape you, break you, and eventually… they’re going to teach you. You’ll spend years trying to fill that void in ways that
will hurt you. You’ll make choices in your search for that unconditional love that only a mother can give.
And guess what? Even at 23 years old, every chance you got to cuddle next to mama bear, you took it. Some things never change, sweet girl. That need for mama’s love – it’s primal, it’s beautiful, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of.
Right now, as I write this from behind these walls, separated from my own babies the way Mama was separated from us, I finally understand. Sometimes mama bears have to fight battles that take them away from their cubs, not because they don’t love them, but because they love them enough to fight.
So, blow out those candles, little Phoenix. Make that wish. And know that somewhere in the future, a woman who carries all your dreams and scars is thinking of you, loving you, and promising you that every tear was worth the woman you become.
We’re still healing together, baby girl. We always will be.
All my love,
Phoenix (Age 26)
Still mama’s baby, always daddy’s little girl