My Sweet Girl,
There are moments in life when the words we need just don’t seem to exist when everything feels too heavy, too raw, too final. This is one of those moments.
A chapter has closed. Not like the ones before, when there was still a sliver of hope or a light flickering at the end of a long tunnel. No, this one feels different. This one feels permanent. Final. And I know it hurts deeper than words could ever reach.
You spent months in doctor’s offices waiting rooms, x-rays, opinions, more opinions. Each visit layered with hope and fear. And then… finally. Cleared. The words you waited so long to hear. You were allowed to return. You gave it one more try. You stepped back into the world you loved if only for a brief moment. And for that moment, it was everything.
But then came the words that changed everything.
“I’m sorry. You won’t be able to go back.”
Words that echoed loudly into a quiet room, louder still in your heart. Final. Unchangeable. And cruel in their stillness.
And yet, through the tears, through the ache of dreams cut short, there is something I need you to know:
You did everything right.
You fought your way back. You gave it everything you had even when your body resisted. You showed up. You pushed forward. You lived that last moment with love, with fire, with the fullness of your heart. And because of that, you will never have to look back and wonder, What if?
You’ll never carry regret, only the truth that you gave it your all. That you loved this sport with every piece of your being. That you were loyal to it until the very end. Even when parts of what could have been were taken from you… you stood tall in what still was.
You didn’t just participate you became something in the process. A teammate. A leader. A light. You made a difference. And even though the ending wasn’t the one you imagined, it was honest. You left nothing behind. You have no unfinished business. No questions. No what-ifs.
As your mom, I wish with everything in me that I could rewrite this ending. I wish I could absorb the pain, trade places with you, somehow take this heartbreak from your hands. But I can’t. What I can do is remind you that this ending is not the end of you.
The tide is simply changing. The direction is shifting. It hurts right now I know. But the sea is vast, baby. And this current, though unfamiliar, is leading you somewhere new. Somewhere just as meaningful. Somewhere still yours.
You were never meant for still waters or safe harbors. You were made for depth. For resilience. For transformation. And even now especially now I see in you a strength that takes my breath away.
I’ve always said that my greatest hope was to raise someone stronger than me. Someone who wouldn’t just survive life’s storms, but who would grow through them. Somehow, I was given you. And every single day, I’m reminded that you are exactly the kind of woman I dreamed of raising graceful, grounded, and fiercely strong.
So grieve, my girl. Let yourself feel it all. The sorrow. The frustration. The weight of this goodbye.
But know this:
You have already won.
And I will be right here. In every wave. In every tide.
Loving you.
Believing in you.
Forever proud.
Always your biggest fan,
Mom
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