To the Two Who Have Reversed Roles.

Dear Mama and Papa,

The roles are shifting. Papa, I used to be so close to you. You would come into my room at night, knowing what to say when I cried and not ashamed to cry yourself. Now you only talk to me seriously when prompted by Mama or when you need something…perhaps when I’m watching a game with you. I miss the old you, the one that existed before the computer took you over, before depression started weighing you down, before your job became heavy on your shoulders. Some days I think everything is better: you sit at the table with us, the television turned off, but all it takes is one word or miscommunication for you to explode.

I still love you; I love you so much, but you aren’t there, it seems. Maybe you need the escape…but we need you. How I cherish those times that you take us fishing or on field trips, when you tell us stories of Ukraine and how you guys did it over there. I wish you would devote as much time to your relationships with your children as you do to your ministry, because I am afraid that without your gentle influence in my siblings’ lives, they are headed down a road to perdition.

Mama, you are becoming my confidante. You rely on me so often, because my brother glowers at you and my sister pushes you (and the world) around. And I love you; I love your ever-rising, always-wanting-to-improve personality. I love how you can’t make jokes, and unintentionally sound racist. Your continued love for me in spite of broken trust over and over again, for Papa even when he seems to lack love, or respect, or something, is the glue that hold our family together.

You are the peacemaker, the one who never fails to ask forgiveness for things that aren’t her fault, the healer of scars and heartache, and the mender of tension. Your nerves are stretched ever tighter by homeschooling and your children’s lies but your love outlasts and outgives anyone I know. I wish I were the daughter you tell me I am, your golden child, but your continued encouragement is giving me the push I need. I’m read, I really am, to improve. Keep praying, because God hears you. How can He not? You are a precious, precious child of His. I think He loves you best.

I love you both, and find it strange how much we all have changed over these past few years. You guys are beautiful, in the way that Major Winters means it:

When the bombs are exploding around you and the enemy is coming over everything from everywhere, you hold tight to each other and to God, and dig in. You don’t give up, and your bond outshines every mine blast, every burst of machine gun fire. And eventually, when the battle is won, you come out of your foxholes, dirty and disheveled but victorious. It’s an unbreakable bond, coming together through trouble, and only the truly beautiful people are left when the dust settles down.

You both are so beautiful to me. Please, please, please stay that way.

Love,
Irene.