Sweet child of mine

             In cleaning out a file cabinet, I came across something I completely forgot I had. 

          Three letters are stuffed into a white envelope with a pink border.  They are written on different types of paper, in different colors of pen, and even with slightly different handwriting.  I am flooded with memory, and I begin to read, falling back into each one in turn.  The first one actually starts “How to begin?”

            Hi. I don’t know how long I’ve had the idea to do this, but tonight, I’ve finally done it.  Carpe noctum!  Like carpe diem, but I’m writing this at 10:22 p.m.  I hope by now I’ve told you what carpe diem means. 

            This is strange.  No, this goes beyond strange (which is typical for me at my present age, 18).  As I write this, you haven’t even been born yet.  The date is August 28, 1996. 

            The letter, in my handwriting, was written by me before I headed off to my freshman year of college.  What prompted me to do it I don’t recall.  But the glimpse at my old self and how much my little girl is already like me were both sobering… how could I have forgotten what I was like at 18?  How little I knew?  How much of the world I had yet to meet, and things I had not yet been forced to go through?  Oh, little Roo, you get to see a snapshot of relative innocence.  I hadn’t dated yet.  I’d never owned a car.  I still resolved issues with my dad by throwing things at him… I wonder if she’ll pick that up, too. 

            The next letter has metallic green ink, and I just happen to know it comes next.  I’ll have to point it out to Becca later on, because there’s no outward indication…

12/22/00

            Hello again.  It’s amazing what a few years can do.  The last time I wrote to you, I was about to start at college.  Now, I’m a semester away from finishing my fifth and final year. 

            One of the things about growing up (yes, 18 year olds can grow up more) is that you begin to believe all that adults have told you about time and having so much to learn.  Just 4 months from turning 23, I know how naïve I was before, and that’s why college has been such a roller coaster ride. 

            I read on and remembered this time what inspired the letter.  I was writing about why Christmas wasn’t really magic for me anymore and asking her to hold on to her Christmas memories, to cherish them.  I also correctly guessed that having a child of my own would repair that loss somewhat.  I was sore from a sledding accident (I still tend to bruise easily from outdoor sports) and feeling, in my words, Scrooge-ish.  I also said I couldn’t wait to meet her… further proof in my mind that there is and always has been in me a need to be a mom. 

            The last letter is more recent still, and again, many varied life lessons had been learned in the interim… this one I copy in its entirety:

10/21/09

Rebecca,

            It’s nice to finally put a name on a letter to you.  I read the other two just now, and decided to do this one differently.  It’s about you. 

            Someday, I hope you get the chance to be a mother.  Being pregnant gives you the most amazing feeling, that you are actually creating life.  It comes with some amazing nausea, but maybe you won’t have that.  Not everyone does.  In any case, childbirth is a phenomenal display of how much strength a person can have… and then suddenly, there’s this tiny person who becomes your personal wellspring of love. 

            You were given a name that was both Biblical and Irish.  Your middle name is shared by Uncle Jon, Grandpa Ken and your Great-Grandpa Jack.  If you don’t know the story behind it by the time you read this, I should be shot.  Really.  By coincidence, your initials are the same as your Grandpa Chief, whom you call Papa right now. 

            You are 3 right now.  The world is your oyster.  You love me and your Daddy, and you know that we love you; you don’t know that we are both stressed to our limits and can’t live under the same roof right now.  You know that you have nice clothes, and we never let you go hungry.  I hope that you’ve never had to be aware of what W.I.C. is, or that we spent time with food stamps.  You have enough, and you are happy, and you are the inspiration that keeps us going. 

            You are tall for your age with very blond hair and blue eyes… your Daddy predicts your flirtatious smile will have him buying a shotgun someday.  I hope not.  I plan to teach you how to take care of yourself.  You love to make up songs, talk on your toy phones and dance with me or Nona (or no one at all, really).  You are smart and usually polite, and never go anywhere without your green monkey, Bongo Johnny.  When you read this, ask me about your original green monkey, Foofoosucker… I should still have him somewhere. 

            It’s nearly time for your nap to be over, and we’re about to go grocery shopping together.  It’s a ‘together’ I love doing, because nothing in the world matters but me and you.  Tonight, I’ll play you a lullaby with my guitar and watch you fall asleep, wondering at the fact that of all the souls in the world, you chose me to be your mother.  You inspire me to hope that all can be well again someday soon. 

            I love you dearly, Becca-Roo. 

                                                            Mom

            Sleep well tonight, precious child, and hear the goodnight someone kept me from saying.  That hope is my vow: all will be well again someday soon.  Because I’m your mother, and I said so.