There Is A Day Beyond The Night

“The night has a thousand eyes, And the day but one; Yet the light of the bright world dies with the dying sun. The mind has a thousand eyes, And the heart but one; Yet the light of a whole life dies when love is done.” Author: Francis William Bourdillon

Yesterday, I saw my daughter for the first time in six years.

Let me say that again, because even as I write it, it doesn’t feel quite real: Yesterday, I hugged my daughter for the first time in six years.

I held her in my arms and felt the guttural sobs catch in my throat. It was overwhelming - so many emotions colliding in a single moment. Relief. Joy. Grief. Fear. Hope. Just seeing her face again felt like something I had been praying for with every passing day, for years.

I followed her lead. We went to a cute little coffee shop in East Nashville called The Den. The sweetest place with a space where we could sit and talk. We talked. Some small talk, some deeper. I listened as she shared and vice versa. We made our way outside thinking we were heading to nearby Shelby Park but ended up in the middle of a very active golf course. I loved laughing with her. Eventually we found ourselves sitting in my car with the AC on and she said so many things that I truly listened to and took to heart - her honest, vulnerable truths about her experience and how deeply things had affected her. I heard them. I really did. I was just so grateful to be there with her, listening to her. My daughter.

It’s not all easy. It’s not a fairytale ending. I heard her say how she wished she hadn’t stayed away for so long, and I head her apologies for things she said and the way she left. And that was so healing and meant so much. I also heard things that were a little harder to hear… But here’s the thing people don’t really talk about when you’re an estranged parent, You don’t really get to have a voice, because our perspective doesn’t really matter. I have heard about so many of reunions going poorly because many parents just aren’t willing to accept that. There is no “your side of the story”, because every word feels like it might shatter the fragile hope that’s just barely begun to form.

I couldnt say the things I needed to say or express my pain - not without risking the connection we were just rebuilding. So I smiled. I apologized. I nodded. I swallowed the weight of my own truth. Because more than anything else, I didn’t want to lose her again

Being an estranged parent teaches you how to live with silence - how to hold love in your hands like water, afraid that the slightest movement might cause it to slip through your fingers. You learn to trade your voice for proximity, your pain for presence. And you do it gladly. Because just seeing her happy, seeing her okay, is everything.

But that doesn’t mean the feelings aren’t there. They sat in my chest last night, and settled into deep places I haven’t touched in a long time. And I don’t quite know how to unpack them yet.

Still, I feel hope. I see a light. A beginning. Maybe not a resolution, maybe not even a full understanding - but nonetheless, a beginning. And I will hold onto that as tightly and as gently as I can.

To other parents walking through estrangement and to you reading this: I see you. I know how impossible it feels to hold your love quietly, to cry in silence, to listen with your whole heart and speak none of it. I know what it’s like to be so grateful and feel so much hurt at the same time. What we’re living through is incredibly layered.

This journey is not neat and clean. But yesterday, I got to hold my daughter again. And for now, that is enough.