Dear Anaïs, With Love

Dear Anaïs

The cicadas out tonight, singin’ loud like they tryin’ to tell somethin’. Their hum fill the air thick and restless, same way it always do ‘fore somethin’ change. The sound roll through the trees and settle on the porch like a prayer half‑remembered. Listenin’ to ’em bring me back to when we was young, lawd, we ain’t know nothin’ but innocence then. Daddy’s girl from the very start, you was. I still hear his voice sometimes when I lay my head down at night, soft and warnin’, sayin’, “Babygirl, be careful with them dreams. We don’t want ’em carryin’ you away.”

If only Daddy knew how much them dreams done carried you, how true they turned out, and how they changed everything. When did they start, Anaïs? Maybe we oughta look back to that first one, the one ’bout Papa passin’ in the hospital. You was just a child then, but the Lord already had His hand on you. Folks said you was “touched,” but they ain’t know by what. You cried so hard that night, sayin’ you seen Papa walkin’ down that long white hall, smilin’ like he was ready to go home. Next mornin’, the phone rang, and Mama fell to her knees.

It took a lot to get here, chile. A lot of judgment, a lot of talkin’ behind backs, a lot of folks sayin’ what they don’t understand. Even family. They whispered in pews, shook their heads at the revival, said you needed prayin’ over. But look at you now. It might not be the way Mama hoped, but you turned out alright, better than alright. You found peace in what they called strange. You found love in what they called wrong. You learned to listen to that quiet voice inside you, the one that sound like wind through moss, the one that never lied.

You done carried the weight of generations, Anaïs. The sight run deep in our blood, deeper than the bayou water. Odette had it, and Eulalie before her. They dreamed in colors, saw things in the smoke, heard the ancestors whisperin’ through the rain. Mama tried to bury it under hymns and holy water, but you dug it back up with grace. You made it somethin’ sacred again.

Let this letter stand as proof of how far you done come. You are blessed. You are worthy of love. You ain’t evil for the gifts you carry. They yours, and they holy. They the light that guide you home when the world go dark.

With love, Anaïs