The other day, Aimee choked back tears as she confessed to me, “Maman, you and papa spend so much time taking care of Ellias. You don’t take care of me anymore.”

My heart split in two to see her in pain: to hear her doubt my love, but I knew that she needed my reassurance amongst the frenzy of our day-to-day, often prioritizing task completion over reconnecting. It has been a hard year, spending every second of my time at home, working, and when I am not working, to keep Ellias alive.

Even as an infant, Aimee has always been more independent, more self sufficient, and perfectly content with navigating the world on her own.

But I confess, I have been remiss. Since the beginning of the pandemic, our rapidly changing circumstances, and our move, she has gotten less kisses, more reprimands, less hugs, more stern warnings, and more pressure to grow up faster than just be a kid. Oh, if she only knew that I would give her all of me, all the time, if I could …

I pulled her in close and thanked her for sharing with me how she felt. I tell her that we love her, and always will. I tell her that we will try better to love her better, because she’s worth it.