A Letter to My Children

I'm back in the archives of my old journals ... as my head is presently consumed with a flurry of tedious thoughts, I thought this would be a good time to pull out some old words to fill this space instead of my drivel about work, expiry dates, socks and other inane topics.

This letter is undated, but I wrote it in the hospital in the days prior to My Youngest's birth:

June, 1998

My children.
Individuals.
Each of you born to a 'different' mother.
Each of you needing a different part of me.
Each of you having your own special place in my heart ...

20 years ago.
I was a child myself.
And I had a child.
Sometimes I feel his life is haunted by the uncertainties that haunted me as I grew.
I grew up.
I grew into my responsibilities.
I grew to love you.
You grew up with my inexperience, my youth, my mistakes, my pain.
It was only when I saw my pain reflected in your eyes that I could see the road we had to take.
We had to separate ourselves from the pain.
We had to build a secure, safe, loving home.
We lost a lot ... but we gained more.
We were safe ...
Safe to 'act our age' ... and make new mistakes.
You made mistakes that were typical for your age ...
A cry for help?
Were you screaming inside?
Did I miss the cues?
You needed me ... you needed to talk ... you needed to feel loved.
I was so scared.
Scared of making mistakes in raising you, in disciplining you.
So scared that history could repeat itself.

The trust got shattered.
The words were never spoken.
We were both afraid to be anything less than strong.
We slowly started to drift apart ...
The years eroded what we once had.
What we 'had' was so fragile.
It needed to be nurtured.
But instead, in our mutual pain, it seemed to fester ...
There are glimmers of hope that there is something still there.
The open talks we've had.
The mutual understanding we admit quietly and rarely verbally ...
We've both seen a side of life we shouldn't have.
Instead of that pain becoming a force to keep us close
It has wedged us apart ...

11 years ago ...
I was 'grown'.
I was ready.
I had my second child.
You were spared from the 'pain' of the 9 years that preceded your birth.
You grew up knowing 'no pain'.
You loved the world
And the world loved you back.
You grew up without knowing your Dad ...
Reflections of your father were sporadically mirrored in your brother.
Not always the best images
They were diluted recreations of a prior time ...
The cycle of 'pain' in your eyes was too familiar.
Your youthful innocence was beginning to be shattered.
Home wasn't the oasis it was meant to be.
Life was starting to hurt.
But you talked.
For one of such a tender age, you were able to unload your burdens, your hurts.
As a more mature mother, I was able to HEAR you ...
You may hurt from life's blows ...
But you heal by talking ...
The pain isn't festering ...
You're going to be okay ...
Just never stop talking ...
I pray I never stop listening ...

Today ...
The birth of my third child is nearing.
Today, as I've felt you moving, LIVING within me, I'm wondering about you as a real PERSON.
What challenges lie before us?
Who are you?
Who will you become?
Have I 'learned' enough to be a good enough Mom to you?
My home is peaceful once again.
I'm bringing you into a home of love and stability and routine.
But there's still 'just me' to raise you ...
The father figure keeps eluding my children ...
I've made unwise choices that have left me fending for you on my own ...
But as a result, I have YOU.
My three precious children ...
My reasons for 'being'
Unique in your needs, your talents and your personalities.
I am 'one' now.
I love you all. And I long to unite us emotionally
We are family.