To Bear Witness

I carry your names in the folds of my spirit. Some nights, it feels like the weight of the love I feel could crush me. Other nights, it’s the only thing keeping me from drifting away. I don’t know if you fully understand it yet—but I am fighting for you. In the unseen places. In the dark. In the quiet.

You are my daughters, nieces, nephews, and cousins. You are the generation after mine—born into the wreckage of things we didn’t fix in time. Born into systems we didn’t dismantle. Some of us were born from people who loved us fiercely but didn’t always know how to love us well.

I see the cracks in your stories. I’ve lived some of them myself. I see the silence at the dinner tables. Shame hides behind good grades. Secrets are buried under the “We’re fine.” I see the weight you carry to be good, or strong, or invisible.

But here’s what I want you to know:

You are not responsible for the brokenness that came before you.

Thankfully, in this lifetime, we are not defined by the mistakes of our parents.

We are not the trauma passed down, or if you were like me, have carried it in our bones.

You are not lost. Even if you feel like it. Especially when you feel like it.

Every night, I whisper your names to the God I trust with my own survival. Sometimes through tears. Sometimes in silence. Sometimes with my whole heart filled with hope—and sometimes with nothing but the echo of “Lord, help.”

I pray you will rise—not perfectly, but steadily.

I pray you will find one another—and hold tight.

I pray you’ll have the courage to rewrite your stories even when the pen feels too heavy.

I pray you’ll see how much power lives in your resilience, gentleness, your creativity, your questions, and your honesty.

I don’t want you to act for love. I want you to be loved simply because you exist. Because that’s how God sees you. And I promise, if you never hear it from anyone else, you will always hear it from me.

I believe in you. I believe in the light inside of you. And I believe—without question—that you can be the generation that breaks the chain.

You are the prayers I didn’t know how to speak in my own youth.

You are the legacy I didn’t realize I was building.

You are the healing I begged God to let me live long enough to witness.

So if you ever feel unloved, unseen, or misunderstood—read this again.

And remember: Someone is still praying for you every night.

With everything I have,

Your Mom & Aunt Tina

P.s. I recognize this post may not be read or understood until after I am gone. But hopefully someday, you all will be able to recall a moment when you felt ‘something’. This might remind you how truly special you are.