perfectly enough

Last night, Leah came in to my room and quietly rustled me awake.

“Mom,” she said, “I had a bad dream.”

I gently lifted her onto my bed, and for the next few minutes, we sat in the dark room lit only by the dim light of the street lamp outside, and she told me all about it. I reassured her that everything would be okay and then, after a few more minutes, we tip-toed, hand in hand, back to her bedroom where she nestled comfortably back into her bed.

And then I woke up.

I have dreams like this every so often. The details of each dream are different – the scenery, situation and topics of conversation change – but in each dream, Leah talks.

I wake from the dreams conflicted. Initially, I’m at peace; so grateful for a glimpse of normalcy with Leah, even if it isn’t real. And then, I’m usually sad. Sad for the chats that, logistically, we just can’t have. Sad for all the conversations that will never be. Sad for the fears and the frustrations she will never be able to convey, as well as the happy and hilarious moments.

I’m torn because I do my best to just accept Leah the way she is, and I feel like, most of the time, I do a pretty good job. Yet part of me continues to mourn the person she will never be. Which is completely ridiculous because the person she is is enough.

Perfectly enough.

For now, I’ll cherish the little girl she is during the day and treasure the late night chats with the one that visits me in my dreams.