For My Daughter

October 24, 2007

Those of you who have been visiting here for awhile will know that my daughter, Sarah, chose to make a stand against breast cancer in the Tampa Bay 3-Day walk last week. She began this journey in June. With the support of family and friends she raised over $3000 that will be used for breast cancer research, awareness, and outreach.

In the week preceding the walk, she became ill. She made two visits to the doctor, the second on Wednesday. She flew out on Thursday morning with a second batch of prescriptions in a zip-lock bag, and an unbelievably strong commitment. She began the walk on Friday with a heart full of hopes, even though it was physically beyond her. Still she pushed on until she just couldn’t go anymore. Finally, on a cot in the first-aid tent, she realized it was over.

She posted yesterday about the experience, the exhilaration, and the disappointment. I’ve read it several times but have not replied. None of the words I can think of seem to be good enough. Her heart hurts and I want to make it stop. I’ve never been able to figure out just how to do that. I can love her, support her, and remind her that although she could not go the distance, she did accomplish her goal. In the end, I know she will have to work through this herself. And she will.

sarah.jpg

These words are taken loosely, but lovingly, from a song written by Terri Hendrix and Lloyd Maines, called If I had a Daughter. They say what is in my heart.

This is my daughter. She knows that the first breath of life is the easiest. From then on out it takes years of practice. She knows that if you keep air in your lungs then you’ll survive when fate tackles you, rubs your face in the Astroturf, and grinds its cleats into your back. She knows that it’s better to be out there on the field of life taking hits and making touchdowns than bitching about the game in the bleachers.

This is my daughter. She knows how to face life and its peaks and valleys with grit, modesty, hope, compassion, and love. She accepts herself. She watches the stars instead of her weight, loves her body, feeds her soul, and dances with her curves. She will see those blue veins as a masterpiece, howl at the moon instead of her hair, and live inside out.

This is my daughter. She holds her head high and struts through this world as a “more than” instead of a “less than.” She trusts her voice, speaks her mind, and seeks the truth. She knows that if it talks like a duck and walks like a duck then yes, it might be a skunk.

This is my daughter. She has a compass so if she gets lost, she can find her way back to reality. And when her soul hits the low notes and her heart is a kick drum, she knows how to turn it into song.

This is my daughter. She’s willing to venture into the great unknown. She has the blueprints to build her own universe.

This is my daughter.

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2 Responses to “For My Daughter”

  1. milkandhoney Says:

    Thanks, mom. I love you.

  2. gawilli Says:

    I love you, too.


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