Sunday, May 11, 2014

A Letter to My Daughters

Kyla, Kamryn, and Kiahna,

It's Mother's Day, and I get to celebrate today because of you! 

From the moment I found out I was going to be a mother, my entire life changed. I lived with a new purpose. No longer did my decisions affect only me. Everything I did would now, in some way or another, matter in a new way.

After I had you, Kyla, someone asked me what was the best part of being a mother.  I said that now my life doesn't end with me.  It goes on into a new generation.  When I die, I will leave a legacy in the form of children and grandchildren.  It's an incredible thought.  What a huge responsibility and privilege.

When I choose to take a deep breath and reach out to pull you into a hug when you are screaming instead of losing my temper and yelling, I am influencing the way you will raise my grandchildren.  I don't always do this.  I wish I did.

When I sit down on the floor to put together a puzzle with you instead of doing the dishes that are filling the sink, I am putting my time into an investment that will pay dividends for years.  I don't always do this, either.  I will try to do it more often.

When I pray over you every night, my prayers are reaching far beyond that moment, that night. They are stretching into an unforeseeable future and touching the lives of children not yet conceived.

You only have one childhood, and I pray that I will do my very best to make it one that will prepare you to go forth and bloom in whatever garden you find yourself.

And when you can't do it alone, I will be there.  To listen.  To laugh.  To cry.  To hold.  To defend.  To protect.  To fill your car with gas.  To buy you a large iced mocha.  To step in and take care of the dishes, the laundry, the children.

When your sister hurts your feelings, come tell me about it.  I will listen and not judge.

When your pet dies or you don't get the part you want in the play or the boy you like asks your best friend out, come tell me about it.  I will hold you and let you cry.

When we leave you in your dorm at college for the first night away from home and you are so homesick you don't think you can make it until the weekend, call me and tell me about it.  I will hurt along with you and then send you some extra gas money to come home and visit.

When you have your first big fight with your new husband, tell me about it.  I will tell you about the fight your father and I had on the way home from our honeymoon and how we are still very happily married.

When you hear the news from the doctor that your unborn child is no longer living within you, tell me about it.  I will hold and soothe and cry and remember the times I heard that.

When your first baby is born and you realize that you have no idea what you are doing, tell me about it.  I will tell you that I never did figure out what I was doing.

When your third child is born and you are so tired that you get out of the shower and realize you only shaved one leg, tell me about it.  I will laugh and tell you to cherish the days, regardless of shaved legs, clean dishes, bathed children, or hot meals.

I am so happy that you, my daughters, will always have each other.  I pray that you will be best friends for life. 

I love you, Kyla.  I love you, Kamryn.  I love you, Kiahna.

    Hugs and kisses,
        Your Mama (who is still in the dark as to how to do this parenting thing!)

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