Luck

I want to go back to those days when Eve trusted me. When she listened to what I said and solemnly nodded her head in understanding. The times when I pointed something out and said, "You must never touch the things in this cupboard. You could get hurt," and her eyes widened in agreement and she refused to even look at that cupboard again.

I miss the days when she would come home from school with a problem and crawl into my lap for a snuggle and a talk. When we were done talking, she had listened to my story, gotten some love and encouragement and left confident that I was telling her the truth. That I could be trusted to know. That my advice was wise and came from a place of love. That she could conquer this.

Right now, her anxiety and fear and self-doubt have peaked to a place where my words are mere superballs pinging off of her armor. Her eyes have lost their luster, her skin is grey, her hair lies limp on her head. She is defeated. She is afraid. It is breaking my heart and, while she is still coming to me and climbing in to my lap, soaking my shoulder with her tears, my examples are useless. She leaves my lap still afraid and certain she will fail. I feel utterly impotent in the face of this impenetrable enemy. So I sit in the hall outside her bedroom in solidarity. All I can do for now is remind her that I am here. That she is loved. I believe in her spirit and its ability to rebound. I can only hope that at some point my persistence will begin to crack the wall she has built and the love will get through.

Wish us luck.