Our dearest little Ashley,
I guess that at 12 and nearly as tall as me, you probably don't qualify as "'little" anymore. I remember the day you were born just like it was yesterday. Your grandpa and I sat in the waiting area at the end of the hall waiting for you to come into the world. It was late in the afternoon and suddenly the sky behind us turned brilliant orange, pink, purple, red, and yellow -- all the colors of a perfect sunset. Then we heard your first cries. It was and will always be one of the most perfect moments of my life.
We went into the room and held you. I remember counting your fingers and toes and telling your parents that if you grew into your feet, they would be in trouble. Then I spoke to you the first time and asked if you were going to be a good girl. The room erupted into laughter when you made a noise that sounded suspiciously like, "uh-uh". Here you were barely 15 minutes old and making me laugh. I knew then that you were special.
As you got older, I began seeing those little things that make you who you are. I remember when I first got sick and was still trying to work. I was struggling to get through a day and just trying to survive when your Aunt Dawn brought you down to visit. You weren't even two years old and yet you were kind and understanding. I remember how you helped grandpa make my bed. Then you would cover me up and then gently sit next to me and stroke my forehead and tell me, "that's ok grandma, accidents happen." You didn't quite grasp the different between illness and accidents but your heart was in the right place and I loved you for it. Most kids of two would have been jumping up and down on the bed and screaming, "play with me grandma!" But not you.
I remember the "grandma radar" I had when you were around. I had been sound asleep when I suddenly jumped out of bed and raced down the hallway to your bedroom. You had fallen out bed and were standing bewildered in the middle of the room. I put you back to bed, thankful for that little prayer that I always said when you were around that we could keep you safe. I kept all the books I used to read to you at bedtime. You used to laugh at all the voices I did as I read the stories. I wish I could turn back time and savor those moments again. Little Henny Penny would bake her bread and you fall into the deep and gentle sleep of a child again.
I love you for that same gentle spirit now. Despite all life has thrown at us, you still retain that kind loving heart. You have seen ugliness in people -- a lot of it -- and yet younger children run to you for help when they are being bullied. I am proud of you for that and I am proud to be your grandma. Your grandpa and I love you, baby. Even though circumstances make it impossible for us to tell you that anymore in person, we still love you. That is what unconditional love is. It is that rare and beautiful thing that allows you to see someone warts and all and still love them. Your grandpa often tells me that we may not be perfect, but we're perfect together. That is unconditional love, sweetheart.
I will write these letters over the coming weeksand months in the hope that you will somehow find them out here in the great expanse called the internet and somehow know how much we still love you. We will also continue to hope that children like you will find safe, stable and loving homes so they can grow up to be confident adults. We will also hope that someday a society that preaches the importance of children will truly grasp the damage emotional abuse can do to a child. The day you asked us to keep driving and not take you home will haunt us forever. The frustration we felt at law enforcement, school counselors, and social workers who while sympathetic, couldn't do anything because the scars you carry are invisible and in your psyche, will burn deep and bitter for a long, long time. Someday society will realize that emotional scars are harder to heal sometimes than physical scars. In the meantime, we think of your constantly. Our every thought of you carries with it our love and our prayers for your safety.
Know that we are out here and you are loved, Little One.
Love, Grandma
