When I first heard this song by Anne Murray and daughter Dawn Langstroth, I was struck by the simple beauty of its lyrics and the sweet blend of the voices. I then read that it was inspired by Dawn’s struggle with anorexia following her parents’ divorce.

Today, I was in the room my daughter slept in from birth until after my husband left (she now inhabits a bigger bedroom upstairs). I decided that my lack of exercise has been taking its toll, and I would take a break from listening to my playlist and get re-acquainted with my old, mixed-genre CD’s.

After some good rowdy aerobic-workout songs, “Let There Be Love” came on. I stopped. I hadn’t heard it since our family broke apart.

There I was, in the room my daughter grew up in. Where she fascinated me with her unique take on the world. Where we’d exchange riddles and sing songs. Where I’d listen to her detailed accounts of what she’d dreamt the night before.

Like Dawn, my daughter has challenges, and her parents, too, are now divorced. Over the years, like all loving moms, I’ve tried this, encouraged that, shared my views on things, listened, made jokes, made mistakes that will turn out not to be mistakes, and done great things that will turn out to be mistakes.

I’m slightly acquainted with the people who lived here before us, and they seem to be caring, responsible people. They, too, had just one child. This was his room, and he grew up to be a man who struggles with alcoholism.

The music playing, tears streaming down my cheeks, I pressed both hands against the thick walls, renovated many decades ago with wood from an old barn—just one of many special things in this house that will soon no longer be our home. Nobody sleeps in this room now, but the polished planks felt thick with the emotional energies of those who had.

Did she have a bad childhood in here?

My daughter and I are both in the same type of place. Something new is about to happen. Her life is a cacophony of choices screaming to be made. Mine is a labyrinth where I don’t know if I’m finally going in the right direction toward the “End Here” of my old life or turning into another dead end. There are too many unknowns for plans right now.

It’s our time to be still.