Missing my daughters but letting them go,...

My daughters,...

I still count the years in the quiet spaces of my mind,
Tracing the paths where our steps unraveled,
leaving a silence too heavy to carry,
yet too familiar to put down.
And now, a new blossom grows on a branch I cannot touch.
A grandchild whose laughter I must imagine,
whose small hands I will never hold to keep safe,
Whose eyes might carry the shape of my own,
a beautiful secret kept from me for years,
My grief was a wild, roaring thing,
Demanding reasons, begging for a bridge across the chasm
Refusing to believe that love could be a locked door.
But the storm has emptied itself.
Today, I am learning the quiet art of letting go.
Acceptance is not forgetting;
it is loving you enough to let the silence stand,
and loving myself enough to survive it.
I release my grip on the life we did not get to live.
I fold my blessings into the wind,
hoping they find their way to your door,
and to the little one sleeping beneath your roof.
You are loved, from across the quiet divide.
I am finally at peace with the shore I am on.