My Child Comma

My Child,

I've been getting your room ready. We've painted the walls and are restoring the wood floor. When we pulled the carpet up, and found the floor beneath we were very excited. It was old, but in fairly good condition. I started sanding the floor when I found a lot of spots where furniture had carved wounds into the wood – scrapes, discolorations, and gaps that would need repair. So, I filled the wounds with wood puddy; then I stained the entire floor to cover the discoloration of the mending I had performed. But, you can still see the scrapes, the wounds. They may always be there.

I wonder if our first days will be great. I wonder if there will be days when I am a hero, capable of anything. How disappointing will it be to find my scars one day? I have tried so hard to cover them, but they're there, and they may always be there. Will such blemish merely add dimension to your father, or will they harm you too?

The other night I prayed to God. I asked him to keep me from ever harming you. I prayed to God to keep me from leaving scars.

I prayed for you.

The stain is on the floor, but the polyurethane is not down yet, so it is prone to damage right now. The last time I entered, I took my shoes off, as if I was walking unto holy ground.

Perhaps you are holy. Holy and fragile – prone to pain, scars. Just like your father.

One day, I will sit on this floor and, unashamed I will listen to you say whatever you need to say, and with unhealed hands, I will hold you steady... steady as hands like these can.

Image Source: Deviant Art