On January 6th, 1996, the day had barely started, but you were tired. You'd just brought your first child into the world only to have her whisked out of the room because she wasn't breathing. You'd been so ready for your little baby. You now knew she was a girl, but something was wrong, because she wasn't there. After a full day without contact, you could hold her only when she was attached to oxygen tubes. You had to spend nights with an empty nursery. You were told that she would likely need to be on oxygen for at least a little while.
Twenty-one years later, your baby girl is still cordless.
Four years later, on June 13th, 2000, you were ready for your second baby, a little boy. He was born, but something was too familiar. Something had gone wrong, and you knew it. He wasn't crying. He wasn't breathing. Your little girl was staying with family friends, and all you wanted was to have both of your babies in your arms.
Sixteen years later, instead of bringing tears, he brings a lifetime of laughter.
You'd already impacted the lives of countless preschoolers by the time you brought your first baby into the world. You'd go on to save and defend the lives of children and women who were in dangerous situations by giving them a voice when no one would listen to theirs.
Things have changed in our family. We've been through divorce, remarriage, moving, graduation, job changes, loss, and so much more. Adulthood has been difficult for me, mom, as you know from the texts and phone calls. I don't know how to handle a lot of situations, and your mentorship has helped keep me afloat.
Despite the negative, we've also had years of light, laughter, fun, and chaotic trips to the Rocky Mountains that end in someone falling in the snow. We've had good times and bad, and you've been there through it all.
You've been there to teach me how to do my makeup, handle copious amounts of estrogen, cook, bake, be a friend, and so much more. You've held me when I've cried as a little girl and as a grown woman. You've put bandages on the physically wounds and stitched together the mental ones. You've snapped me back in line when I've fallen out. You've talked me through broken hearts, academic irritations, and bad days. You've reminded me to worship and trust my Savior through everything, even when He's hard to see. I couldn't be more grateful for you and everything you do.
In a year, you will attend two graduations. You will watch your daughter receive her Bachelor of Arts and your son earn his high school diploma. You will watch your son go off to college while your daughter (hopefully) gets settled in a career and city she loves.
Through all the ups and downs, here's to you, mom, and everything you have done, are doing, and will do, for not only us, but for everyone else.
I love you mom, and happy Mother's Day.
