Happy 22nd, Emma Joy!

Oct 31, 2018 | Mothers and Daughters

It was shocking enough to acknowledge your sister’s 20th birthday – the fact that I no longer have teenagers. But this, now past the HUGE marker of 21? Shocking. Amazing. And, more than all else, full of joy. Not because you’re getting older, necessarily, but because as you do, I am getting wiser.

This year, sweet girl, has been one in which I’ve witnessed you step boldly into your voice, your uniqueness, your mind and heart, your body, yourself. All of which is teaching me. You are.

If I knew then what you know now…

I didn’t. But now? Now, I witness your endless courage and compassion, your deep wisdom and wit, your infinite brilliance and boldness. And as I do, I learn more about what it means to have kindness for myself: that young woman who knew little-to-nothing about self-compassion or self-kindness or self-love. I learn more about what it means to step into my own voice, uniqueness, mind-heart-body as I watch you do the same. I learn what it means and looks like to hold on to infinite hope on behalf of the future – because of the collective one that you are actively shaping through your both your anger and your advocacy.

Despite your fears (warranted), your sadness (appropriate), your ache (of course) on behalf of the world in which you live, your name remains true: Joy, Joy, Joy.

And for better or worse, this is why you feel fear, sadness, and ache: joy is your birthright, your deepest desire, and that which you make manifest in your world – in ours. Its absence is intolerable to you while, simultaneously, your presence ushers it into ours.

“Who is this girl, this woman, this human?” I continue to ask myself – and have from your earliest of days. The answer is endless, but at a bare minimum this: you are miracle and gift beyond words.

I couldn’t possibly be more humbled, more proud, more amazed, more delighted, or more in love with who you have been these past 8030 days and who you will continue to be(come) in every day that follows. ‘More rooted in hope (and joy) than I could have ever imagined…because of you.

Happy 22nd Birthday, sweet girl.

I love you, Emma Joy.

Happy 20th Birthday, Abby!

Oct 7, 2018 | Mothers and Daughters

How has the day arrived in which I no longer have teenagers? How is it that today you turn 20? I stand in disbelief, gratitude, and awe, not because 20 years have passed, but because of who you are.

This past year I have watched you do hard things, make tough choices, say goodbyes, take on more, stay longer, work harder, choose wisely, grieve silently, celebrate beautifully, live bravely, and love fiercely.

You are navigating this season of transition, change, and adjustment with grace, courage, and strength. All three are made manifest in vast and infinite measure, in potent and powerful ways. It’s breathtaking, really. You are.

Here’s what I know to be true: as you continue to demonstrate such, more and more will be yours. Grace breeds more grace. Courage breeds more courage. Strength breeds more strength. You are living, breathing evidence of such; you have been, always.

Oh, who you have become.
Oh, who you will yet be: my baby, my daughter, this woman, my heart.
Oh, how I love you.

Happy Birthday, Abby.

Champagne on a Tuesday

Oct 31, 2017 | Mothers and Daughters, My sort-of Sermons

My oldest daughter, Emma Joy, turns 21 today. Yes, Halloween. I can still picture her, just placed in my arms, with her hospital-donned hat; it was tied with two bows: one strand of black yarn and one strand of orange.

So many things have changed since that all- night of labor and blessed morning delivery; so many experiences, emotions, stories, “life,” that have made her into the miraculous, amazing, and powerful-and- tender presence and person that is her. The baby. The girl. The teenager. The college student. The young woman.

But this has not changed: I am as taken and overwhelmed by her now as I was 21 years ago; as grateful and humbled and thrilled and yes, as teary and emotional.

I will pour myself a glass of champagne today.

And though the two of us are not together, I will toast her – knowing (and thrilled) that she is enjoying toasts of her own, on her own, with friends who see her for the miraculous and amazing and powerful-and-tender woman she is, friends who love her deeply.

In a few days, I will drive to her college town. We will raise a glass together – her now of legal drinking age, me picking up the tab.

I find this hard to believe, hard to imagine: how could this day possibly be here? But then, that’s exactly what I felt the day I found out I was pregnant…after years of infertility and disappointment.

It is appropriate and right to not wait until Champagne Friday or our across-the-table presence from one another, to offer this toast; personalized and perfect for my now-grown girl:

You have done enough, Emma Joy. You have listened enough. You have said enough. You have cared enough. You have created enough. You have given enough. You have stood for enough. You have loved enough.

You ARE ENOUGH! Always and in every way.

And every bit of this was true the moment my eyes met yours, 21 years ago.

Happy Birthday, sweet girl. Oh, how I love you.

*clink*

Happy 19th Birthday, Abby!

Oct 7, 2017 | Mothers and Daughters, My sort-of Sermons

Your birthday. Nineteen. Somehow, it feels different this year.

As I was thinking about what to write today, I went back and looked at what I wrote 10 years ago – on your 9th birthday. Amazingly (or maybe not) it all remains true. Not that different after all.

…In the middle of the night on October 7, 1998, the doctor had to tell you to slow down; that we weren’t ready for you to make your appearance yet: so eager were you to burst into the world. That has not changed.

You continue to burst into my world (and that of many others) with eagerness and full of life. I love that about you.

What has changed? This past year has been one of much change for you and with it, your own testing of emotions, relationships, your very strength and resilience. You have grown as a friend – grieving over the hurt that others can cause, longing for fairness and justice, deeply wanting your intent and heart to be known and understood, standing loyally by those who might be overlooked or not chosen. I love that about you.

You have struggled with your own emotions – the things that hurt, that seem unfair, that don’t make sense. You have raged, wept, sat quietly, and thought things through, often without resolution, without available answers, without any fix. And still you have laughed, played, danced, sang, created, and loved. I love that about you.

Though not through teachers I would have desired, you have learned about disappointment, loss, and heartache. As much has changed in our family you have had the amazing ability to survive ambivalence – letting good and bad, confusion and resolution, celebration and mourning, joy and pain all be true simultaneously. It has been difficult. And it continues. And you wake up each morning (after a bit of prodding) ready to face a new day. I love that about you.

As I have walked through this past year’s days with you, Abby, I have been amazed at your tenacity, your demand for the good, your endless hope, your tender heart, your stamina, your strength, your loyalty, your sense of humor, …your laughter, your singing, your love. I love all these things about you…

In the middle of the night 9 years ago you burst into my life with a cry that left no one doubting your will to live, your unmistakable presence, your indelible, undeniable mark. That is even more true now than then. What is also more true now, is that I love you more deeply and more profoundly than I did then. You have that effect. I am entranced – just as I was the moment I held you for the very frst time. I love you.

Happy Birthday, sweet girl.

Yes, Happy Birthday, sweet girl.

I’m stunned, humbled, and overjoyed (always and infinitely) by the plumb-line that is you – through and through. Oh, how much stronger and clearer that has become in the 10 years since I wrote those words – and in powerful, palpable ways in just the
past few weeks since you flew the nest; certainly, without a doubt, in the days, weeks, months and years to come.

YOU are the gift to me – always have been, always will be.

I love you, Abby.

20 Years Ago Today

Oct 31, 2016 | Mothers and Daughters

I’m awake far too early – no reason for me to be up at this hour. But rather than sleep – or attempt such, I decide to write – or attempt such.

20 years ago I didn’t have this practice, this morning discipline of pen on paper, but I’m guessing if I had, on this day then, this is what I would have written:

I’ve been eating ice-chips since 6:30 last night. I’ve been hooked up to monitors since then, as well. I watch and hear your heart, its every beat, on the machine to my left. I start, suddenly and anxiously, whenever there is either the slightest lull or
slightest spike. No. I cannot sleep. The Pitocin should have worked by now, yes? The epidural should have left me feeling less restless and afraid, yes? The promise that you will soon be in my arms should leave me feeling calm, yes?

But neither my body nor my mind are having any of it. Nothing complies. Something is in charge that disables my every illusion that I am, or ever was in control of anything that ever really mattered. I focus on the monitors, willing you to be OK, willing you into my world.

And willing or not, you finally made your entrance: 9:25 a.m. on October 31, 1996. 20 years ago today.

Here I am, awake far too early on yet another Halloween morning, remembering that day like it was yesterday. And in truth, forgetting all of the pain, all of the fear, all of the worry, all of the waiting for the moment you were finally in my arms. Remembering my tears of joy, my heart broken open, your heart beating strong and well and wild. Realizing that all of this is still true today.

20 years old.
20 years old.
My baby, my girl, my heart, is 20 years old.

I have to keep writing it, seeing it in print, to take it in. Still, despite how unbelievable, I feel the significance and truth of loving you for exactly that long; of being a mother, your mother, for that long; of hearing my own heartbeat in rhythm and response to yours, for that long.

And it strikes me: I have every reason to be up at this hour – that day, to be sure, and this one – to write in halting and incomplete and impossible-to-capture ways that today, 20 years later, I feel exactly as I did then: overwhelmed by love, overcome by you, undone by the gift you are to me. Then. Now. Always.

Happy 20th Birthday, Emma Joy: my baby, my girl (no matter how old you are), my heart. I love you.