Tough few days.
Tough couple months, actually.
Some days it's really hard to get out of bed, knowing the day probably holds a tantrum or two. A little manipulation. A flailing grasp for control of the family. Some disrespect. A challenge to stop loving, to give up, a dare not to care.
Sometimes it's really hard to care. There are days I wish I didn't have to, that God did not require it of me. In the middle of it all, it's so hard to remember that she's just a lost little girl. A sick little girl. A scared little girl...who desperately needs her mommy to love her. No matter what. I know I should never define her by the monster she becomes, by her Attachment Disorder, but it's so hard. Impossibly hard without Christ, but difficult even with Him. I'm just so tired.
And then I see the tears. The real tears, that sometimes don't ever come- never used to come- but more and more often do these days. The hot tears of remorse, that pool and spill over big brown eyes full of regret. And in those eyes, a glimmer of hope and humanity that never used to be there.
Her eyes speak.
Will Mommy still love me? Even though I'm horrible? Will she forgive me again, even though I promised I would try harder and I lost it again? Am I still accepted? Am I still safe? Am I lovable?
The mirror of her healing, the window into her soul.
Those big brown eyes.
We used to call them dead eyes. They held no life, no hope, no future. Only death. Pictures from years gone by have captured the bleakness in her eyes. They're still dead sometimes, when the sickness wins and the little girl is lost, but they never stay. My little girl always comes back to me now.
Her eyes speak.
They hold a glimmer, a glint of life and happiness and love. A healthy spark, that is also captured in pictures. More recent pictures. When I see that spark, or I see the tears of remorse and the hope of forgiveness and acceptance in those big brown eyes, I know we're well on our way.
No matter the pain, no matter the long hard days ahead, no matter the lessons we both must learn.
Her eyes speak...
...and they tell me that someday my daughter's heart will be whole.