Tomorrow I entrust with you my beating heart in a glass box. Last year I gave it to another and she handled it with soft words and a delicate hand. I felt lucky. This year I must learn to trust again. Trust my little girl to be taken care of by someone else. Such simple words, "taken care of," but carry so much meaning. To some it may simply imply providing the basic necessities for survival-food, water, sleep. For me "to take care of" implies respectfully guiding, nurturing, monitoring, compassionately disciplining, and providing opportunities for growth.
You see, to a mother, her child is what keeps her heart beating strong. That child is her breath of life and when her child hurts, her heart hurts. Her heart hurts more than if someone were to hurt her own. So, begrudgingly, I will attempt to have faith that someone other than myself is teaching and, in part, raising part of my child. I will have faith that the right people were chosen for this monumental task. I will trust my beating heart with another.