My husband gave me a gift today. He reminded me of a blank book that we used to write in once, he and I, in an attempt to communicate when life got the better of us and talking didn't seem to be effective anymore. Some days, it is easier to be honest on paper.
I spent some quiet time this afternoon looking through the pages of this book and reading of places we once were, watching the journey to Now. I found a letter that I wrote to Cole, years and years ago, when he was a baby and it was only Us Three. I want to share this letter, because reading it today reminded me suddenly and painfully of the joy this is all supposed to be about. That joy gets stifled sometimes, certainly, under the weight of daily tasks....but it is still there. This was the reminder I needed today.
Oh, how I love these boys of mine!
Today a woman stopped me in the post office and told me how beautiful you are. This is not uncommon. What is it about old ladies and little girls---that notice all new life and are compelled to reach out a hand? It makes me understand that the circle of life is not that vast; there is a curiosity that exists between the span of ages. I am continually amazed.
She--the post office woman--said also that you "greatly resemble" me. How is it that such a simple statement gives me so much joy? I look at my own silly baby photographs--ugly, even--embarrassing childhood pictures, awkward teenage moments--and find only a handful I can be proud of. I wonder at times what others could see in me. And yet, when someone, anyone, recognizes your innate beauty as stemming from my own being, I am overwhelmed with pure emotion. You are mine! You belong to me, you came from me---there is no question. I feel at once swelled with pride over my own power and accomplishments.
There is something wonderfully heroic about giving birth. I understand now why women tell their life-giving stories over and over again, are obsessed with the details, the triumphs, the pain. It becomes legend in its own rite--the moment of superseding what is physically possible and letting spirit propel one forward. Breath becomes existence. And where there was one, there is two.
I could tell our story, yours and mine, for all eternity. I'm not sure others care to hear it. That's okay--they have their own hero story. But I have tasted what legends are made of--mystery and fear, joy and pain, thrill and sorrow. You and I made history--if just for a moment. I see the waterfalls and forests, knights fighting dragons for fairy princesses. My love for you delivered you, and in turn, delivered me.