Creating a Horcrux

Become a parent. Become immortal.

You can live forever by splintering your soul and placing the shards into objects or other people so that a portion of you will always live on.

If you’ve amassed enough power for yourself, you may even be able to come back from the dead.

There’s horror though. Tearing your soul apart requires murder. You must take someone else’s life if you want immortality. But it’s not a guaranteed plan and you loose your humanity in the process.

There’s another way. It’s more like an investment, like planting a tree. But it still requires a death. I discovered this when my daughter was born.

If my little girl is going to grow up in love, a part of me has to die.

Part of my soul is sacrificed to water her little soul. Everyday, a part of me is given to her. Affection, kisses, smiles, concern, time, critical thinking, problem solving — all use my life to enrich hers.

There are immediate rewards. Her smiles. Her laughs. Her gazes. Her snuggles. But she has my soul. Or a portion of it anyway.

Then there are the indirect expenditures that happen. Cleaning up after her. Spending time away from her. Working to keep her in a cozy home.

Dreams and ambitions have to take a back seat for a little bit. Some days I can dream a little more because she isn’t as fussy. Other days I watch her while wife cleans the spit up off her clothes.

Mornings are often our time. Some mornings she sleeps in, but when she’s awake early, my wife needs an extra hour of rest to feel human. Normally I get some writing or research done early. But that can’t always happen when the little one is so cute and smiley. Who’s going to resist the excitement of a baby fully awake to the world?

Here’s the deal. Nothing is lost. NOTHING.

Part of my soul is forever in the hands of my daughter. She will carry my heart after I’ve passed on. My life waters her reality right now, but it’s creating rivers under the surface of her heart that she can always draw on.

This is what it’s like to create a horcrux. The right way. It must be. It sounds awful, but a horcux is just a container for your soul. This is natural immortality, without a spell or murder.

No, this is love. Sacrificing your own soul to bring another fully into life.

Some say that it’s not a sacrifice at all. That love doesn’t hurt or that it’s not inconvenient.

I say love without sacrifice is a shallow emotional experience.

Love is my immortality. Everything I’ve poured into people will carry my soul on after I’m gone. There’s been no greater extraction than what I’ve imparted to my daughter.

It was involuntary. She pulled me apart the moment I laid eyes on her. And I will give her more. I ask for nothing back.

If this is how I feel, I can’t imagine my wife’s experience.

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