Sentencing

I love my daughter. I love all five years of her, even though I've only been a part of the last two. I wish I could have met her birth mother. I wish I could have had a glimpse into who this woman was, who this woman is. This person who gave me one of the greatest gifts of my life. This person who passed on a life sentence to my daughter. Not a death sentence, because HIV has long since become that for many many people, but a sentence none the less.

A sentence condemning my 5 year old daughter to taking a hefty amount of medicine every 12 hours, like clockwork. A sentence condemning her at some point to face the less-than-understanding public eye. A sentence condemning those around her to fall in love with her and possibly lose her. A sentence condemning me to nightmares of forgetting to give her her medicine.

I wonder which of my daughter's traits she gets from her birth mother. Does her birth mother smile all the time like she does? Does she become easily emotional? Does she miss her daughter, wonder what she is doing, what she is like, who she is becoming? Does she regret not taking her HIV meds while pregnant with my daughter? Does she regret not giving my daughter her life-saving medicine while she was but a baby and couldn't take care of herself? Does she think about her at all? Does she plan to "do it again?"

I love my daughter. I love her for her resilience. I love her for her smiling face. I love her for her compassion for others. I love her for the fighter I know she is. I love her for the fighter I know she will become as she learns and understands more about her situation.

But I know I don't show her all of the love I have for her. I know I hold something back, even after two years, because of my own fears of loss. My fear of completely letting in this wonderful person, to give myself to her completely, and lose her. She is a long long way from that. It may not happen for twenty years or more, and still it is my biggest fear. It plagues me when I am weak and unable to rely on God to lead the way. It plagues me when I play the "what if" game. It is there even when I don't give it voice. The fear waits for weakness. I must remain strong. I must rely on God. I must pray for strength. Strength my daughter possesses and I only dream of. My daughter, my hero.