Dear Child of Mine

Dear Child of Mine,

It started at the mall—that moment I knew I was born to be your mom and that you belonged to me. Dad and I had decided to shop our separate ways—his, the hardware department; mine, the pharmacy, where I scraped $14.25 together, so I could tinkle on a wand.

20 minutes later, with new purchase in hand I watched, while the image of a plus sign announced your existence.

I had the kind of smile a kid gets when Grandpa lets them keep the puppy he found. It was a good smile—a very good smile.

December 25, 1996 was the day to celebrate our God who—clothed in mere humanity—had come to be with us. It was also the day that you, my little one—merely clothed by the flesh of my womb—had gone to be with Him.

A wise Dr. Seuss once said, “A person’s a person no matter how small.” He may not be ‘The Great Physician’ but I do agree with the doc on that one. I believe that, like you, each one of my children were a reason to celebrate life. Some stayed for only weeks, one stayed for 5 months, and your big brother Brendan is still hanging around after 18 years. I know you’d love his funny ways, but sometimes he tickles too much.

I never knew how long we’d be together—I wanted a forever. And yet when I did lose you—your existence wasn’t any less significant. Nothing was wrong with your perfect form, your spirit, or soul. I wasn’t a fool for thinking it would last. No. I am glad that I embraced your life and declared your existence to the world. It was simply a matter of His divine orchestration.

I’m grateful for a God who offers life, and by His Son—hope in the unseen things of this world. His Word teaches me that you are a treasure I hold, while reminding me that one day—one marvelous day—I’ll embrace you again.

For that short moment in time, I was a vessel that carried your fragile, growing little soul. Your days, though they were few, hold great purpose. You are, and always will be my child.

—Love, Mom.

I am mom to four children on earth, and five born to heaven. A mom to nine, indeed.

You are loved by an almighty God,

Darlene

Inexperienced Love

I still remember the way he felt the first time I held him close to my heart. He was brand new, but I already loved him with every breath that I had. It was much like holding Betsy Wetsy, except he was softer and blinked on his own. Careful attention was given to not poking the top of his head, lest I cause that little head to implode. My guess is that I probably would have been much better off not knowing the head thing, than being told not to poke. One wrong move and that could be it.

That fear was further tested the minute we brought him home from the hospital. I wouldn’t as much as tinkle without bringing the baby to the bathroom with me. Even while cooking, his Rock-A-Roo was propped up on the kitchen counter where I could watch the rise and fall of his chest beneath his terrycloth clothes. While I baked those cheese cakes I craved, I’m certain that he was craving them too. Passed down through his milk, he smelled like a cherry cheese himself. He was so yummy one could have gobbled him up. And I did.

His eyes were like a blue ocean on a cloudy day that’s warm enough to draw you in for a swim. His hair was feathery blond, and his cheeks a fair shade of pink. I loved to watch the way his full lips turned up when he smiled, while I refused to believe it was gas. It was only when he held his fists tight with a quizzical look in his eyes that I’d have to admit it was true, and that it was time for a change.

Picking him up, I kept one hand steady on the back of his neck careful that his head didn’t slip off and plunge to the floor. I was reminded of loose buttons on parkas that barely hang on by a thread.

Diaper changing was something I never thought I’d enjoy, until I witnessed the mighty stretch and the way his chubby legs kicked in that moment he was set free. It was a good time to tickle his tummy and give him the raspberries before zipping his Pooh sleepers back up.

He spent the days cooing and cawing, sucking and burping, peeing and pooping, and screaming. He loved to watch Jeopardy. I’m not sure what fascinated him the most, the music, the questions, or Alex Trebex’s halfro, but whatever it was, it kept him from crying for 30 minutes/day.

My baby is now 18 years old. His eyes are still as blue as an ocean on a cloudy day, his cheeks are a fair shade of pink, and I still love the way his full lips turn up when he smiles.

Adulthood was something I never thought I’d enjoy, until I witnessed the remarkable young man he’s become. He was my first born, which meant that motherhood was trial and error, with the best intentions of an inexperienced girl. I’d always wondered if I did my job well, if I held his head right, if I instilled faith, if I was a good enough mom.

I’m proud to say that he’s grown into an amazing young man. Breezed through the teen years without a hitch, and is now working as an assistant manager in my husband’s company.

He spends his days working and resting, laughing and smiling, writing and singing his songs. He’s an amazing musician with remarkable talent, and I’m proud of who he’s become!

Brendan, you are an amazing kid. You’ve come a long way, baby, and I still love you with every breath that I have.

Visit his website at: www.ostilow.org

Memories Of Our Past

After the breakup, comes not only the tears, but the memories. Why do we have to remember so many of the good things that we shared, and somehow push back the hurt we suffered once we have separated ? Maybe I have just supressed those bad things in my mind, so I don't have to re-live them again. But you know, the brain is a very powerful thing and soon again, I will be once again reminded of the hurt I have gone through, especially after he has given me a hard time about something. After a period of time, the tears eventually get fewer and farther in between and memories seem to only come up when I hear one of "our" songs or see something that reminds me of him. I don't want to keep dreadging up the past. It's not good for me, however, it can be good to kind of go back through things and see what happened and kind of sort things out so that the door can be closed peacefully and I can move on. Moving on peacefully will be good for me.