Releasing Dreams

Oh Alexis, I don't want to talk about this. I already dislike writing this letter, and it's only just started.
I've written you so many letters that act as a metaphor to life, but right now, I don't have the energy to write about metaphors that are open to interpretation; I only have time to write the truth.
Today I got home from having lunch with a friend. After lunch, she invited me back to her house; I said "no". Listening to my body, I knew I needed some downtime. I wish I had said "yes". I didn't realise that what I would walk into was a place that harboured a tangible presence of silence. I hadn't cleaned up the kitchen from Solomon's breakfast and the train track he had created only hours before lay on the floor cold and was starting to collect dust. I quickly told Hey Google to begin playing music, so the silence didn't sound so loud. Solomon's little track was too much, and music in place of Solomon's babbling or you laughing and asking for food reminded me of the emptiness within the house. What I wanted was those noises, the noise of my two children. I wanted blocks and mess on the floor, which I would have to tiptoe through, that I would resent later as I cleaned it up. Tears fell from my eyes, and heavy sobs left my chest as I packed away the stupid fucking train set. How could a train set bring up so many deep emotions? Despite so desperately wanting to, this toy acted as a confronting reminder that I had dreams and hopes I could no longer hold onto.

The realisation set in that you are now learning how to let go of dreams too. It would be best if you didn't have to learn this at nine years old, but children are at the mercy of the decisions made around them and have to learn lessons before it seems fair. It'll be okay, and you'll be okay because I'll talk to you about navigating the changes.
As adults, as plans change and life moves around us, we tend to hold onto our hopes and dreams loosely. However, you'll come across dreams you don't want to let go of – you want them to come true. And there are hopes you hold in the secret places of your heart, which you will never let go of.
I have some of my own.
Family and you and Solomon being home all the time. Noisiness within our space, laughter, joy, peace. I don't want to let go of those, even when they cause me pain because the thought of them brings so much fullness to my heart. I think fondly of the holidays and weekends away which haven't happened yet. I'm letting go of the thoughts of more siblings for you and Solomon. Deep down in my heart, there's part of me in the secrecy that doesn't want to let go of these. 
 I want them. I have always longed for these hopes, and there have been glimpses of them coming to pass, but they've never quite gotten there, and I know now they won't. At least not how I imagined.
So how do we let go of old dreams? The ones we so desperately wanted and still want? We allow, in the heartache, for ourselves to make new dreams.
Still the holidays, still the constant cuddles, still the joyful and loving family, still the adventures. They will look different, but it doesn't make them any less or mean they have less worth. 
 My dream is to run again, finish my study, and take you and Solomon to where I grew up. They still exist, and while I'll still grieve my old plans and hopes, I won't stop making new hopes and dreams because of the heartache.
Although letting go of the old is sad and painful, especially when you don't want to do it, I think the real tragedy lies in not creating new dreams and not learning to look forward due to the risk of disappointment. I would rather dream and hope and end up disappointed than not dreaming. I would rather the sadness than knowing I've stopped my heart from beating and growing like it's designed to do. 
I've always wanted to give you and Solomon a beautiful, safe, complete and loving home where your hearts are inspired and your feelings are validated. Our home is all of these things, and although our surroundings have changed, this goal has not. It's the same dream, just in a different space, emotionally and physically. This is what I'm still doing and will forever be my aim. 
It might look different – but it still looks beautiful.
It's all still so bloody beautiful!