Letters For You

What You Won’t Remember

Posted on October 4, 2011 Written by Tonya

I made the leap from Blogger to WordPress in early August with a lot of help from Ashley of My Front Porch Swing and have turned to her more times than I care to admit since then with questions and utter freak outs over missing posts and widget help. Ashley, I am grateful to you and appreciate your patience with me. I still have have much to learn about WordPress!

Today, I am pleased to share Ashley’s loving letter to her daughter and I am particularly proud of her for stepping out of her guest posting comfort zone to write such a tender piece for my series.

My darling daughter,

What you won’t remember.

You won’t remember your fight to be here. The surgery when you were only halfway done. The hospitalizations that your sweet, loving brother took in stride. That your daddy worried through but during which stood strong. The terror, fear, and absolute determination to meet you grown and strong. Absolute gratification, relief, and complete joy that filled us all when you arrived – and were, indeed, fine.

You won’t remember your first time at the beach. The gulf’s breeze blew around us, the water just a bit too cold to enjoy. Snuggled deep inside a wrap tied to close to my heart, you were barely aware of your surroundings. You won’t remember the cool sand, the gull’s cries, or the waters lullaby.

You won’t remember your fight with pneumonia. The stark, white walls of the hospital. The compassion in your nurses eyes. You won’t remember me holding onto you so tight they had to pry my fingers just to set you down. You won’t remember the thousand prayers I sent up to those we lost, higher powers above, and anyone else who would listen.

You won’t remember your first steps. The strength, courage, and fearlessness in which you moved along. You won’t remember me sinking to my knees in wonder, delight, and trepidation that you were gaining independence. You won’t remember the tears on my face as I tried to commit every.single.second to memory while grabbing the first camera I could find.

You won’t remember my reluctance to leave you. In the beginning, the time I spent away from you was counted in minutes. The nervousness as I kissed you goodnight, and eventually goodbye when I finally gained the nerve to trust you would be all right. The tears I shed over being away from you and your brother will not register in your memories – but they are sure burned in mine.

You won’t remember the first time you said, “I love you”. When you gazed up into my eyes with such loyalty, affection, and adoration, I learned all over again the meaning of true love. There is no greater love than that of a child, and you won’t remember the thrill of joy and contentment that filled my heart when you spoke those three words.

You won’t remember the moments I thought of your life ahead, of the people you will meet, those you will love, the accomplishments you will achieve. You won’t remember the emotions that struggle to prevent me from completing my thoughts. You will build an abundance of memories and none of them will be lacking in love. You won’t remember the moment I wrote this with such conviction and belief in the amazing woman you are going to become.

Whatever the future brings, there is so, so much you won’t remember.

But even with all you won’t remember, I still hope you never forget.

I love you,
Mommy

Dear Bear’s OT Girls

Posted on September 27, 2011 Written by Tonya

There is truly nothing more endearing than having others fall completely in love with your children and treat them with as much love, compassion and respect as you do.

The lovely Shell of Things I Can’t Say is here today sharing a poignant letter of gratitude to her son’s Occupational Therapists.

Dear Bear’s OT girls (aka his Occupational Therapists),

Thank you.

You have no idea what it means to have my son excited about coming to see you. He calls Occupational Therapy “my play place.”

You make it fun for him. You help him. And you all love him.

My Bear has the sweetest heart. He really does. But, often, others don’t see it. They see his struggles. They see the things he does that are “bad.” They see him as a difficult child.

But, you don’t.

You greet him with a big smile.

You thank him for being such a good helper when he reassures a crying child in the waiting room that “Don’t worry, this is so much fun. Don’t cry. Go have fun with the girls.”

You give him choices and laugh right along with him when he squeals with joy.

You let him sit in your lap and stroke your hair. He loves playing with hair. It’s soothed him since he was a baby. And you never pull away from his touch.

You run your fingers through his hair and rub his back and make him feel safe.

You understand when he has a rough moment and never scold. You gently pull him back to what he should be doing.

You encourage him and make him feel like he’s doing a great job.

You never get frustrated with him.

When I share the struggles he has been having, you nod knowingly, letting me know that what he is going through is completely normal and that you have strategies to help.

You give me hope that things won’t always be so freaking hard.

You don’t judge him or me for what he is going through. You only focus on what can be done to help. That kind of acceptance brings tears to my eyes.

I wish I could scoop one of you up and have you spend the day with Bear at school. I wonder how differently his day would go if he had such encouragement and individual attention all day long.

But, we have to share you with the other kids who need you.

I’m sure there are days when you are tired or deal with kids who give you a hard time, but you don’t let it show.

I’m just glad that you are there for Bear, to help him at his “play place.” I understand that this is your job and you could say that you are only doing your job. But, I know differently. I know that you don’t have to care so much.

That caring? Is making all the difference in the world to my Bear.

For that, I cannot thank you enough.

Sincerely,

Bear’s Mommy

Dear Baby Girl

Posted on September 20, 2011 Written by Tonya

Robin is one of my favorite writers and her blog, Farewell, Stranger is one I never miss. Robin’s writing is raw and thoughtful and eloquent. I have devoured every word of her brave journey through postpartum depression and especially love her posts about her three-year-old son, Connor, who could be the Canadian version of Lucas.

I had the pleasure of rooming with Robin the first night of BlogHer ’11 and we stayed up until after 2:00 AM talking. To say that I hope we get another opportunity to do that again someday would be an understatement.

I am so pleased to have Robin here today with a letter to her baby girl. Confused? Keep reading….

Dear Baby Girl,

For a few months now Connor has been talking about his baby sister.

“I’m going to have a baby sister,” he said one day.

“When my baby sister comes, I’m going to teach her how to paint,” he informed me a couple of weeks ago. He was wrist deep in watercolor paint at the time, and the image of the two of you creating art together nearly made me cry (which surely would have smeared my own amateur work of art).

One day I asked him when his baby sister was coming.

“On Friday,” he said, his voice confident and sure.

I laughed of course, because he seems to be under the impression we merely have to order a baby and go to the hospital to pick it up. (It’s Grandma’s fault, because when he asked her recently where babies come from she took the admittedly smart approach and told him they grow in the mommy’s tummy and then you go to the hospital to get them.)

I wish it were that easy. If we could have you with us on Friday, I’d leave for the hospital right now and wait in happy anticipation.

That’s not how it works, sadly, but I’m intrigued that your three-year-old brother is so sure you’re coming to live with us.

Nine years ago, when we bought our first house and it was being built, your dad and I stood on the ground outside with nothing but the skeleton of a house surrounding us and thought about what it would be like to live there. It was getting dark – the sun was going down in the hills to the east, and I could see footprints in the dirt beneath us from the workers who had been there that day.

Suddenly I had an image in my mind, clear as a photograph, of our family. Four of us – your dad and I, a boy and a girl. I dismissed it as a silly dream or wishful thinking and didn’t even mention it to your dad at the time. It was too much like picturing the “perfect” family.

I actually always imagined I’d have a girl first, so when your brother came along I was surprised. And that led me to wonder whether maybe my quickly-dismissed vision from that long ago day wasn’t in fact worth paying attention to.

Your dad and I had never really talked to Connor about having another baby. He just started talking about it on his own, and has mentioned his “little sister” to Grandma as well. None of his good friends have little sisters – they’re all little brothers – so I really don’t know where he got the idea.

Maybe he knows something we don’t. I sure hope so, because our family isn’t complete yet and I’d be very happy if you’d come and join us.

Love,

Mama

P.S. If you turn out to be a boy, that’s okay too.

Dear Mama

Posted on September 13, 2011 Written by Tonya

I am so humbled by the generous response to my new weekly feature, Letters For You that debuted last week and very grateful to Poppy of Funny or Snot for helping me kick off the series.

If you missed her heart wrenching letter to the lifeguard she credits to saving her daughter’s life, you can find it here.

This week, I am pleased to welcome Natalie of My Crazy Busy Life. Natalie helped her grandmother celebrate her 75th year recently and here is the birthday letter she gave her.

When Tonya asked me to contribute a letter for her new weekly series, I knew exactly what to send. While I had a close relationship with my grandparents, my paternal grandparents were the ones who actually raised me.

Last month, my grandmother celebrated her 75th birthday. I helped throw her a surprise party. We mailed invitations, ordered a cake and created a slideshow that celebrated her life. But what’s a party without presents? And more importantly, what do you buy someone who truly has it all? I followed the advice I’ve told my kids MANY times: I used my words. The following is a letter I wrote for her birthday.

Dear Mama,

One thing I’ve learned from you over the years is that our time here is limited. We never know how many days we will have or what our tomorrow may bring. So, as you celebrate your 75th year of being alive, I think it’s fitting to share with you a few of my thoughts. After all, there’s no better time like the present.

Children growing up often take their lives for granted. Children who are loved and nurtured naturally assume that there will be food on the table, a warm bed to sleep in and a lap for snuggles. That is, children make these blind assumptions IF their families are raising them in the way God intended.

I simply want to say thank you.

Thank you for giving me a home where I can be blissfully unaware of the outside world. For allowing me to assume that I will always have three square meals, a bed to sleep in and a hug when I needed it.

Thank you for caring for me all of the times I was sick and the countless bowls of chicken noodle soup you made on the nights I couldn’t sleep; for giving me a lap to be rocked in and arms that hugged even as I grew too big to crawl into that lap; you never turned me away. You simply adjusted in your chair to make room.

Thank you for telling me stories of not only your childhood, but the ones from my fathers, aunts and the rest of the family. Because of that, I’m blessed to know my history and where we come from. You shared the funny memories as well as the sad. I heard the struggles you faced not only as a wife and mother, but also as a woman. The strength I receive from that and from you is second to none.

Thank you for showing unconditional love AND setting rules and boundaries. I always knew you cared, but also when my behavior disappointed you. Because of how much you loved me, I never wanted to cause the disappointment. I came to strive to do my best because I wanted to make you proud.

The day came that I did disappoint you, but my deepest appreciation stems from one of our most difficult times.

Thank you for supporting me when I was pregnant at only 16. I truly do not know how it would have been possible without you. Having a baby in high school was certainly not a life I had planned, but it became a decision I have never regretted.

Thank you for supporting me in the beginning of the most important role of my love–being a mother.

As I watch my babies grow into kids and then ultimately young adults, I can truly appreciate all of the love I was shown when I was nothing but a kid myself. Not only do I understand the love, but the also the pain and disappointment. I am more sorry than you know for the hurt I caused; I was simply trying to do as you taught me; I wanted to find my own way as my own person.

Thank you for staying in your marriage for 55 years. The two of you have given our family a touchstone as pillars of strength. You taught me through your example that all relationships require work and that vows are promises meant to be kept. There will be bad times, but then we can truly enjoy the good ones. Because without thunderstorms, we wouldn’t have rainbows.

One of my favorite quotes is:

Two great things we can give our children: One is roots, the other is wings. – Hodding Carter

Thank you for teaching me the importance of the first and then giving me the courage to use the second.

With all of my love,

Natalie
xoxoxox

Letters For You

Posted on September 6, 2011 Written by Tonya

When was the last time you wrote a letter?

With the gentle encouraging and support of Nichole (In These Small Moments) and other friends at BlogHer, I am proud to introduce a new weekly feature on Letters For Lucas called Letters For You.

I am urging friends to write a letter to someone, anyone; your unborn baby, your teenage son, your mother, your best friend, yourself at 15 or yourself at 80.

Tell someone something you have always wanted to and haven’t yet. Share a story, confess a secret, express your pride, offer your gratitude or spread your wisdom. Say something you didn’t even know you needed to say.

Letters should be funny, sarcastic or sentimental. They are yours.

I’m hoping this will be an opportunity to open your heart and share your soul. And who knows, after you write it, you may want to send it.

Each week, on Wednesdays I will feature a different letter.

Please let me know if you are interested in participating by e-mailing me at tonya@lettersforlucas.com

I’m excited to give you the very first Letters For You letter from Poppy (Funny or Snot).

Dear Arica,

“I wish I were Sophie” is my middle kid’s mantra. She contracted Jan Brady Syndrome right around Christmas. I welcome the opportunity to reassure her that she is my most interesting child as well as my most annoying.

Perhaps you remember her. She wasn’t being annoying at the time, she was playing dead.

My forgotten middle child there on the bottom of the public swimming pool at which you were life-guarding. I was swimming laps with my oldest while my husband was holding our youngest in the shallow end. We each thought the other had our four year old daughter who could not swim and was not wearing a life jacket.

I was under water when I heard your whistle, specifically counting my strokes. Like a marine mammal hearing a high pitch warning of impending danger, instinctively I just knew. Time stopped as I flew from the lap pool to the general swim pool just as you were breaking the water’s surface with my blue lipped little girl in your arms.

In those few moments before I knew she was going to be OK, I made eye contact with my husband who was just as confused. We were both trying to process how this could have possibly happened.

It didn’t take long before she started coughing up water and you handed her to me. I read somewhere that even abused children desire their mothers. It seems the same principle applies to neglectful mothers. My frightened child, and the most independent of my three, clung to me all day as I did to her. Then I started the torturous “what if” game.

What if you were distracted by a boy, a text, self consciousness about your swimsuit?

What if somebody engaged you in conversation near the lap pool and you didn’t move to the general pool in a timely manner?

We, her loving parents, did not know she was missing. What if you had not seen her?

I would have never forgiven myself.

I don’t forgive myself now.

I can only make sure it never happens again by being hyper vigilant around water. Shaking the whole time, I took her swimming the very next day to perhaps avoid a lifetime fear of water. I also signed her up for another round of lessons.

We came into visit you a week after it happened to thank you again, but I am afraid it was still too fresh to do anything but present you a small gift with tears in my eyes. A gift in exchange for a life seems so stupid. I want you to know, three years later, that I am on my knees thankful that my breach of duty came with a second chance. I am forever grateful to you, our life guarder, that you were watching when I should have been.

Thank you,

Poppy

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