SPACE
“I’m making space for the unknown future to fill up my life with yet-to-come surprises.”
Dear Hadley,
I love space—personal space, open space on my desk, open space on my calendar, space between hangers in my closet, adaquate space between my mat and my neighbors mat in yoga class, space to stretch my legs on the airplane, a beautifully designed space, the stars, the galaxies, the moon.
But I’m not the best at leaving space. I like things to be set, to be sure. Which I’m only now just coming to realize is not how living actually works.
My therapist confirms this.
As I write, there’s a new space in your mouth. After living with you for all these years, your front bottom tooth is now in the hands of the toothfairy/mom.
All your charming little baby chicklets are on their way out. They say they go in the same order in which they came. I wonder if that tooth was your first to arrive? I searched for photo proof of this, but couldn’t find anything, so we’ll have to assume.
It seems like just yesterday/two years ago you were teething. I remember rubbing your tender little gums with my finger.
I wonder what your big teeth will look like.
Like your moms or your dads?
Like your brothers?
Like mine?
Or like something seemingly brand new but actually influenced by a great great grandparent, whose teeth none of us remember?
Maybe they’ll be perfectly straight. But given our history, probably not.
Maybe, since you’re an intermittent, aggressive nail-biter like me, you’ll chip your front tooth and need to get it fixed and refixed every few years. Then you and I can both have lifelong, in-mouth reminders of the inescapable truth of cause and effect.
Maybe you’ll get a gap between your front two? You had a wonderful wide one when your baby teeth first came in, before the rest of your teeth pushed them together. Your mom and I loved that fleeting space.
By the time you read this, we’ll know what actually emerged, how it all turned out. But as of today, the only thing we know for sure is that all of your teeth will take the space they need. Even when there doesn’t seem to be enough room, even when others are bumping into them, even if you have to get a palate expander that your mom has to crank with a key every night—your big teeth won’t shrink to fit.
Let your pearly whites be your set-in-enamel reminder to take up all the space you need, my little love.
You’ve been wiggling your teeth for a while. Desperate to lose one like your brother. But, as you patiently realized, teeth aren’t easily persuaded.
They come when they’re ready, they go when they’re ready.
Which is the truth about everything.
I love you exactly as you are and exactly how you will be.
Aunt Liz
Proof!
