Dear Reese,
I spend the hour after you go to bed compiling educational resources on Form I-9 investigations and ICE raids and trying not to be sick about how scary the world is right now.
I crack open a Baumeister’s Root Beer while I do it. It’s not a whiskey, but it’s something.
It’s like earlier, when I lay on the floor and you sat on my stomach and I kept pretending to be asleep and then wake up again and you laughed and laughed. Until, without warning your face screwed up in silent distress and I sat up, stopping the game and holding you tight.
I feel like that sometimes — everything is fine, until I remember the quotas ICE officers have.
What do we do but breathe? I did not like the 2013 film Man of Steel but I think of a line featured in the trailer all the time:
“The world's too big, Mom.”
“Then make it small. Just . . . focus on my voice.”
When my world narrows, it is you, and all joy.
There is a family wall in your daycare room, pictures of all the babies and their families. Today, your teacher tells me you looked and looked at my picture, standing (supported) against the wall. I missed you too.
Love,
Mama