A letter to myself, the ghost-bearer

Dear one,

You didn’t ask to be given away.

You didn’t ask to be named in someone else’s echo.

You didn’t ask to fill a space that wasn’t shaped for you.

But still—you lived.

You smiled.

You tried to make sense of the love that came sideways.

You translated grief into service.

You held tensions no child should have to name.

You were the offering.

The bridge.

The repair attempt.

The ghost-bearer.

And now…

I see you.

Not as a function,

Not as a replacement,

But as the part of me who carried the impossible,

with dignity,

with silence,

with yearning.

You did not fail.

You survived so I could begin to live.

I release you now,

not in rejection,

but in reverence.

You are free to rest.

You are no longer needed as substitute.

I do not need you to be loyal to absence.

I only ask you to come home to me.

As Sage.

As whole.

As sovereign.

With gratitude and tears,

I bow to the life you made possible.

With love,

Me