A Letter To My Grandfather In October

I remembered how at your funeral there was a place in your casket where notes could be placed; how we were encouraged to write something down; how I was instantly suspicious and how my mom had said, "Jennifer, come on."

--

Before I Was Me

The Queens and I had the gift of today together and while we were running around playing, suddenly the sight of them laughing caught me off guard and sent me careening backwards, into yesteryear, my own sister by my side, a fall day shining down on us.

There was nothing particularly memorable about the day, nothing specific regarding the memory, but just for a moment, I could almost feel her beside me, her hand in mine, the way that she'd lean on me.

It struck me then, while I was lingering between what I thought would be and what is, that I've spent a lot of time thinking of what is to come, rather than focusing on what is now.

And What Will You Do?

 *This post has been edited; please see below for updates. 

I cannot express how sad I am to write this post.  I have written drafts with many paragraphs, linked to many sites, raged many rages, cried many tears, but we've all read enough words and seen enough news.

Ultimately, I don't believe that I can write what I want to say.  Instead, I am going to use minimal words and try to get my point across in photos.

I ask that you click on each one; study each face; memorize each detail, for those details are important.

Seven

Seven tomorrow; just as all the rest have come, Six, Five, Four, Three, Two, the Questionable One.

Seven.

The picture is from Six, of course, for who knows what Seven will bring, but I am assuming it will not bring Time to write this post, for it will be filled with friends, a pool, sisters and a ball park to watch Big A easily display the magic combination of youth and a softball glove.

Funny thing; Time, that in all my writing about it, it's still a mystery; a knot that the more I try to unravel the tighter it becomes; weaving within my chest a separate knot that leaves me forever caught between a smile and a tear.

I want her to grow; I want her to stay small. I want her to be aware. I want her to have no idea.

She's my enigma. How she can so simply know the deepest truths while still believing the most innocent of things?"Well do you believe in Santa, Peanut? Who do you think you would know better if there's a Santa? You or some silly kids on the bus? Of course there are fairies, Little A; how else would those letters with Pixie Dust make their way under your pillows? Let's look at the pictures of the Fairy Villages!"

Seven.

And Santa still lives here. The Tooth Fairy still lives here. Children grow faster, know more now. Will Little A's Seven become Big A's Eight? I don't remember who I was before I was their mother; who will I be when I am no longer the mother of children? Is that the knot ever-growing within my chest?

Six was magic. Six was the summer of Justin Verlander. Six was when the ability to memorize and recite stats began to come in handy rather than be a freakish anomaly.

Six was the first letter home from a teacher that read, "Jenn, I thought you would want to know that today Little A played with kids and wasn't alone at lunch." Six was reading entire chapter books under covers with flashlights carefully hidden so I wouldn't find them before she went to bed. Six was when she used her Magic to make the Tigers win multiple games in a row.

Six was hard. Six meant explaining why Magic can make the Tigers make it to the playoffs and not to the World Series. Six meant explaining cancer. Repeatedly. Why some cancers can be cured; why some cancers cannot. Why Magic cannot cure cancer. Six meant explaining that yes, mommies and daddies die sometimes. Why Santa cannot fix cancer. Six meant new medications and new therapies and new exhaustion when I didn't think there could be new ones.

I would keep Six, if I could. Which I cannot.

So tomorrow I am happy to greet Seven. I've heard that in Fairy lore Seven is the age when Fairy villages begin to appear to those that believe....

To Seven, Little A.

I love you more than love,
Mommy

Fifteen

Dear Big A, 

Fifteen. 

I have to pause and take a deep breath as I try to wrap my mind around this moment, this day. I remember when you turned five that I was thinking, "In five more years, she's going to be ten, five years after that, she's going to be fifteen" and on and on. 

At that point in time, the concept seemed impossible. It still does, except this morning you blew out fifteen candles on your birthday pancake and there I was, drifting between five and fifteen and stunned, still, with the realization that I have no idea where the time has gone. 

I know I tell you so many times that I think that you are amazing. I know that hearing it from your mom isn't the blanket of comfort to you that I mean for it to be. I'm aware that me loving you doesn't solve anything for you; that it isn't the salve that can heal the wounds that come with being a teen; that it doesn't make things easier. I know that my kisses don't make things better anymore and that your belief in my magic is gone. My saving hope is that your belief in your own magic remains.

Could you bear it, one more time, me telling you of how much I loved you the moment that I saw you? I know that you cannot, but I think that I cannot tell you it enough. You sliced my world apart; cut me to the core and filled it with such a light that I was momentarily blinded. I still feel that each time I look at you. "How can something so wonderful be mine?" And then I remember that you're not mine, that you are yours and then I hope that someday you will feel something so powerful that it moves you to beyond anything that words can describe and you will think, "That is how much she loved me."

So many times within the past year I have seen you from afar and not recognized you. I knew who you were, of course, but to see you, really see you, that slayed me each time. You are so beautiful, so composed, so gifted that I have to remind myself of the moment that I met you, that you were a part of my being, because I cannot imagine having created and nurtured someone so wonderful. 

I'm sorry for all of the times that you felt that I didn't think you were anything but my world. I'm sorry if you ever thought that I pushed you too much, that I wasn't happy with something that you did--it's just that I want you to see how the world is in your hands and all of the potential that you hold--it's much different than where I am at now in my life; my world being in the hands of you and your sister. 

Today I couldn't stop myself from thinking that in five more years, you will be twenty. You will be gone from our home, out making your way in the universe. I know that you will come back, but that it will never be the same, nothing is ever the same anyway, so that doesn't bother me so much anymore. What makes me ache is how much I miss the little you, your precious cheeks and legs and how you would lay on my chest and sleep all night.  

I don't think of time as passing and the moments being gone so much as I think of it as the moments remaining there forever, each second living on within its own universe. That thought soothes me some, thinking that those precious minutes exist still and that I can visit them, feel them, smell them whenever I wish. The trick is not staying there reminiscing too long, for I want to make sure that I participate in today and tomorrow and each gift of time with you that I have. 

I love that we can speak fluent sarcasm with each other and know that it's a language of love. I love that you can sing the words of my favorite songs. I loved that last night when we were singing in the car and you said something about being embarrassing and got out to run into the gym and I rolled down the window so that Little A and I could belt out, "Born and raised in south Detroit", I could see your face in the glass door and that you were laughing. Your beautiful face grinning from ear to ear made even the saddest corners of my soul smile. 

Fifteen, Big A. You are my sunshine; you always have been from the moment I laid my eyes upon you.

Happy, happy birthday my love.

Love always, 
Your Adoring Mother