A Letter to My Niece

I lost myself somewhere along the way. Along the path of wildly chasing after a figment of my mother’s imagination. My body was changing, my mind bending to the will of others, I didn’t know what I wanted—as so many of us still do not know.

I was young, still am, hopefully. But you know, everyone is young in the eyes of someone older, regardless of how old you truly are. I did not know any better, and I likely still do not.

Am I wasting away at this desk job? Suppressing my desire to write, to play, to be free? There is a child deep down within me who once knew how to play. She would reconstruct cardboard boxes, creating makeshift tables to sell her various knick-knacks. Need a random building block? Sure thing—here’s one for five imaginary dollars. A hair dryer? Say less, that will be ten. The prices were laughable, but her imagination was not.

There are those of us who grow up to have small online businesses. We make stickers. Handmade art. Likable trinkets that hold special places in the hearts of those who recognize the craft. They have not abandoned or forgotten who they are—who they always have been.

You were born shortly after I turned ten, or was it eleven? Regardless, I remember the day like one of those crisp mornings that seem to stay with you forever. You were an autumn leaf, falling into my lap, signifying the change of seasons. You were about to change my world.

***

Those chubby, tiny fingers wrapped around mine, and instantly, I knew I was in love.

Although you are technically my niece, we seem to have grown up as sisters.

I remember you banging on the bathroom door, begging me not to use up all the hot water. How is it that you are the younger one? You confidently carry yourself everywhere you go. Your responsibility reaches those around you. You inspire me.

***

It is rare for us to get snow here. But the impossible happened one day, and we made the best of it. Out we walked, unrecognizable bundles of layers, waddling into the icy fields.

The air that day embodied the same feelings as when I first saw you—clear, calm, pure. A gift. It felt so easy to breathe, to truly let ourselves go; to get carried away with the strong winter winds.

I cannot recall our chatter or stories, but I can distinctly hear our laughter. If only our poor excuse of a snowman could’ve lived to tell the tale. When was the last time I had felt this free? When was the last time I felt this comfortable in my own skin?

I had forgotten.

I had forgotten how to play, how to be that little girl I once was. Years of sitting behind a desk, withering away at the demands of people around me, have made me into a wavering branch, overlooking that I am part of a bigger tree. I have always been a part of something bigger.

I am not the reviews at work, nor am I the perfect daughter bending to every command. I am an adult who was once a child. I am someone who loves to write, to play, to be shamelessly who I am.

Thank you. I lost sight of it all. That is, until you dragged me over to the snow-covered seesaw.

The children’s playground was absurdly quiet. Every mother sat at home, warming their child in their arms, or with a cup of soup, or hot chocolate. Here you were, warming my heart simply with your presence.

We cackled like ridiculous little school children, prancing around on the equipment. I sat on a swing for the first time in forever. We battled each other on who could be flung off the see-saw first (I don’t recommend this, as the person who lost).

***

You are growing quickly. Much quicker than I ever anticipated. Or perhaps, I am the one aging. Maybe all these years (not very many) have made me reflect and realize what I rushed through. Those years I could have savored are now flashes of the past.

I love that you are taking up all these hobbies and making the most of your youth. You commit to learning new things. You don’t give up.

How is it that I am the older one? Look at you, doing everything on your own.

I am so proud of you.

***

We were on the precipice of a global pandemic.

You were ecstatic for an extended school break, and the world was nervously trying to laugh away the impending disease. We were none the wiser.

Everyone’s lives were changing—including our speck of the whole. I lost myself again. On my phone, the endless scroll of videos, consumerism, lethargy, and isolation.

But most of all, I lost a family member.

A different type of disease ate away at our relationship.

My mother’s mental struggles had resurfaced—she, too, was losing who she was—or potentially reverting to who she had always been.

Abused alcohol, my dear niece, is not kind. It mistreats those who partake. It steals their peace and the peace of those around them. Their loved ones struggle.

After dodging broken wine glasses, bottles, and flipped tables, I wrapped my mother’s harsh words like a blanket around me as I departed from her house for the last time into the unforgiving winter cold.

I remember crawling into our temporarily shared bed, tears streaming down my face, falling asleep to the steadiness of your snoring.

***

It felt as though my heart had been trampled on, like the inevitable had finally engulfed me in its sick darkness. I was motherless, in theory. My mother would not be there the day I become a mother myself.

That night, the room was pitch black, yet an undeniable light filled me.

It was you.

You love wholeheartedly. You’re honest. You’re the reason why I could reach deep down and find the girl I had lost. Just having you by my side was slowly mending me.

Not only did you help me find my lost inner child, but you also helped me find my happiness. My strength. My confidence. My desire to get back on my feet.

You showed me that although there is one less person in my life, it does not make me any less of the person I am today. You, a growing child, demonstrated that I, too, had so much growing to do. I am still not done growing. Thank you for that.

***

You were the missing piece, the connection to what everyone should have access to: themselves.

I had forgotten myself, as many of us do. We get lost in meaningless things, egotistical battles, alluring distractions, and shameful behaviors. Sometimes I still fall prey to these things.

However, it is kids like you who remind us that life is so much more than what we claim. It is the silent, cold air we take for granted; it is the misshapen snowman; it is those temporary footsteps in the snow which will melt away the next day, erasing all trace of our existence—of our memories.

My little autumn leaf, you are more than just a symbol of changing times. You are my laughter. My joy. The light that brings me back home.

I am only ever found when you are near.