To the boy that is me,
You and me, we are not so different, even with so many intervening years separating us. We are fighters, stubborn, curious, seekers of justice, too trusting sometimes, lovers of nature, smart, naïve, innocent. We are hurt and we are healing.
I want you to know that you could not have done anything differently. You fought as hard as a ten-year old body could fight. I still fight with my aging sixty-plus body, with my mind, with words, and with a stubborn fervor. Because I never want to see another boy or girl hurt the way that you were hurt at such a young age.
When the fight was gone, it was still not your fault. Know that it was not your fault. It took me years, but I know it now. It is never a child’s fault. It wasn’t your fault at ten years old. It wasn’t your fault at seventeen. Or anywhere in between. It was never your fault.
I am sorry for the times you were unhappy because I couldn’t figure out what was hurting so badly. I am sorry that I turned to alcohol and drugs to hide the pain and dull my senses. I was doing it for you, but didn’t know there were better ways to deal with it all.
It took years, but I am so glad we reconnected. I love you. I love me. That took a while, too, but we’re here together now. I promise I will protect you now and that I will love you always. I wrap you in love and feel the warmth around me. I am content. I am happy. I am healing, and I am filled with gratitude for your strength.