Letters to My Daughter: Grateful
Nov 07, 2022
Dear D,
When you were little you had one of those rubbery seats that lets babies sit up before they are sitting up on their own. It had a little plastic tray attachment for toys or food. We would sit you in there, pressing your thunder thighs into the leg slots, and pile cubed avocado and sweet potato on the tray. You’d squish those cubes around in your hands, kicking your legs and flailing your arms with delight. Some of the food even made it in your mouth.
I remember watching you and seeing the faces of the women who had given you that seat, hearing their wry humor, thinking of the anticipation in their eyes as I opened gifts at your baby shower.
In the months following your birth I was schooled in gratitude. It seemed like everything you used reminded me of someone. Your softest blankets were made by your Grandma Tutu; the nursing tank top I used all the time was a gift from my writing partner. Your big Minnie and most comfy dress were from my best friend; and your bouncy thing that hung in the doorframe was a gift from Auntie and Uncle. When I bathed you, when I burped you, when I put you in the Ergobaby carrier for a walk; I saw faces, remembered stories, and felt gratitude for the people who love you, who love me.
When you were seven months old, we took your picture on a quilt my grandma made for me when I was a baby. There you were, drooling on a carefully embroidered squirrel, being held by generations of love.
And the schooling continues as the years unfold. As I care for you each day, I feel held by so many overlapping circles of care. Last week when we went out to the garden patch to pick some veggies for dinner, we tossed them in a basket—not just any basket, a basket from the fancy baby shower Auntie Romina threw for me when you were in my tummy. The little chalkboard tag still attached to the basket reminds me of all the care and love she poured into that party. You have been loved since before you took your first breath in this wide world.
Loading cookies on a silicon baking tray liner last night, I thought of the ways our village has cared for us. Ronda, who gave us the silicon liners, used to pick you up once a week and take you to her house for the day so I could write. She and her family also dog sat for us with such love that even years later (and almost a thousand miles north) our dog ran to jump in their car when they stopped for a visit.
I recently heard attachment researcher, Daniel Siegel, describe gratitude as one of three “self-transcending, self-expanding emotions.”[1] Just as pleasure and a sense of abundance fill me when I sit down with a plate of warm cookies and a glass of milk, using gifted items each day helps me rest in abundance and relax into the rhythm of caring and being cared for.
A blessing:
May you be ever held in a canopy of care.[2]
May gratitude continue to flow as easily from your tongue as it did last night when you said, “Thank you for waiting for me, Mama,” as you joined me in the bathroom to brush your teeth.
David Whyte says that “thankfulness finds its full measure in generosity of presence, both through participation and witness.”[3] You are so good at being fully present! May that gift allow you to know unbridled joy, to bear witness to sorrow, and to carry on with a deep appreciation for the web of care you are a part of.
And on those inevitable days when everything seems to be going wrong, may you be surprised by glimpses of gratitude—a joke with a friend, the texture of your favorite sweater, the taste of a chocolate chip melting on your tongue.
By Jody Washburn
Read previous Letters to My Daughter:
Letters to my Daughter: Wishes
Letters to my Daughter: Sideways
[1] In case you’re curious, the other two are compassion and awe.
[2] I’m thinking of one of those multi-colored parachutes made for playing group games. Several people hold the edges of the parachute and work together to bounce a ball, just like so many people work together to carry us over our lifetimes.
[3] David Whyte, Consolations: The Solace, Nourishment and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words.
