Friday, November 9, 2012

a letter to my daughters' mother

"I have thought of you all day, actually all week.  Well, the truth is, you are never that far from my thoughts.  Because I am raising your daughters.  I wasn't supposed to be raising your daughters, you were.  You never gave them up for adoption, you never relinquished them because you couldn't take care of them.  You didn't abandon them on a dark night on a road or in a crowded market.  No, you fought for them until your last breath.  I know the story of your death.  It is sacred and completely heart breaking.  Because I know your story and how it ended, I know that you gave every single part of you to try desperately to stay alive and care for your girls.  Somehow, I think you knew what was going to happen to them if you didn't.  I think deep down you knew they would then be abandoned, relinquished to others that weren't you, weren't even family, to keep them alive.   I think you knew that you were their hope.

I imagine myself in your shoes.  Dying giving them birth, and knowing they could very well die also because of your death.  I imagine fighting with everything in me, begging those around me to get me to the hospital, to get me help.  Begging God to keep me alive.  The utter fear and anguish.

Not going gently.

I am not supposed to be raising your beautiful daughters.  You are.  You are the one that should be wishing them happy birthday today.  You are the one that should be celebrating their joy of life, their laughter, their singing.  Sometimes I wonder if you sang to them all the time when they grew inside of you, because they wake up singing, laughing, yelling and they go to bed that way.  They are so full of energy and enthusiasm.

You are the one who should be hearing their "I love you mamas" and you are the one who should be hugged so tightly every day.

Not me, you.

Your girls are wonderful little girls.  They make everyone smile and laugh.  They are not shy at all and love to engage anyone that comes their way.  Mia talks non stop and will make herself laugh at anything that strikes her as funny.  Ellie notices everything and is sensitive.

They are so extraordinarily special.  There is a light inside of them that does not dim.

In fact, your story has not ended. It continues on in them.  In the light that shines in our house every day.

I always pray I will love them enough, that I can somehow try to be their mother too, even though I was never meant to be their mother.  I pray that somehow you know that I love your girls so much.  I pray that you know you are never forgotten and always remembered.  Even now, so young they know about you, their mama.  I can never take your place.

This day is hard for me.  Because we celebrate their birth which also was the day they lost the most important person in their lives, the person that should have been celebrating today with them.  They don't understand this yet, the joy, pain, and loss mixed together.  Somehow I hope that when that day comes, when the pain and the joy is felt by them too, I can wrap my arms around them and whisper that you loved them more than life itself, that we love them and will never stop, and that you also wrap your arms around them and remind them that you live on in them and your love will never leave them."



I share parts of the story of their birth and mother's death only because the orphanage they were adopted from only accepts babies whose mothers have died giving birth to them (and I have stated this many times on my blog and on our website).  The rest of their story is for them to share one day if and when they choose to share it with others.  

Last year's letter can be found here.


Ralph Sutter said...

Holly you are the best! Keep being beautiful!

Anonymous said...

Thankful for you and your voice Holly...and all your girls too - Rebecca