I remember the moments each of you took your very first breaths. The memories etched into my heart with permanency, the images so vivid I can hear and see and smell and taste it all. Each one so perfect in its difference -- one marked by the beginning of a new love, one outlined by the reminder to never lose hope, one cradled in an embrace of peace.
But also, all the same.
Because in each of those moments I felt the release of you leaving my body while simultaneously feeling my heart wrap around every single ounce of your being. I felt a part of myself both separate and become a new kind of whole. I looked in your faces and knew that, for the rest of my life, I would do everything in my power to show you what true happiness is made of, to hold your hand when you needed me, to let go when you were ready to fly, to try with all my might to make you proud to be mine.
With each of your births, a new me was born. A new part of my heart started beating. The immediate love I had for you was so beautifully painful.
It was always the most humbling thought that I, I had been entrusted by God with your lives.
And I promise -- I promise -- I have never, ever taken it for granted.
...
Cameron, the other day you pointed to a shelf in the den that was lined with several books.
"What books are those, Mama? What are they called?"
"Cupcakes and Running Shoes."
A silly giggle erupted from your missing-tooth grin.
"Cupcakes and running shoes?! What in the world?!!!"
I then explained to you how much I love to write, and that every year I take all of the things I've written and turn them into a book, so that one day you and your brothers can read my words - all the way back to the time you were in my belly - and get a tiny glimpse into my head and into my heart.
You see, my three tiny people, I want you to know me. Whether I die tomorrow, or when I'm 40, or 73, or possibly live forever like your G Gram (who is still kicking life's butt at 94) -- I want you to know what life looked like through my eyes, felt like in my <running> shoes. I want you to know how my heart beats for you and how we got through so many little and big adventures together... not completely unscathed, but we made it.
I can promise you that I will always, always, always be here for you and I will always, always, always be open and honest with you.
I will protect you and love you fiercely and forgive you and stand by your side, always.
And, just as since the day you took your first breaths, every thing I do, every decision I make, every road I take... it will all be with the three of you as my guiding lights, always.
I am so proud of you guys. And I think one day you'll be proud of me, too.
Life can be hard and beautiful and painful and joyful and exhausting and energetic, all in the exact same moment. Lately, I have simultaneously felt scared and brave and hopeful and questioning and happy and heartbroken, all in the exact same moment.
I am working with everything I have to help us find our new normal -- to answer questions both protectively and honestly, to teach you how to have courage but also teach you that it is absolutely, 100% okay to just lie down and let the emotion pour out of your body in big, loud tears.
You three -- you three are amazing. You know that? You are resilient and you are my happiness. You are so incredibly brave and so incredibly kind. All three of you love big and hard, and feel big and hard - just like me. And while that may put you at risk to one day feel a pain that actually squeezes the air out of your lungs - living life with a heart that can love big and hard is worth every risk, every jump, every tear.
Without loving big and hard, I wouldn't have you, and I wouldn't be here today - and where I am today is a place I am proud to be.
We're going to be okay...
We are okay.
...
Tonight the witching hour got us all. After the best weekend, and after a pretty awesome Monday, we all kind of fell apart. I got you guys to bed and walked downstairs and sat on the dirty kitchen floor with the remnants of dinner covering pretty much every visible surface.... and I gave myself permission to feel, to hurt, to cry, to be overwhelmed and scared and stressed and disappointed and frustrated and tired.
But you know what I did next?
I got up.
And I walked into your rooms and saw your faces - eyes closed, lost away in dreams of soccer balls and superheroes and lollipops...
...and I saw it.
Love, hope, peace.
And it hit me hard, that tomorrow will be exactly 365 days.
...
Cameron, Everette, and Brooks -- being your mom always has been and always will be my greatest joy. One day, I hope with all of my heart that when you can read and learn and know and understand me, my heart, and our beautiful, brutal story - you will be proud of who I am, of every step I've taken, of the promises I've kept, of the hope I've clung onto, of my faith, of my perseverance, of my transparency, of my grace, of the relationship I've built with Jesus through it all...
One day, you'll know how there were many, many, many mornings where the thought of having to pull the covers back, get out of bed, and put one foot in front of the other made me physically sick.
But ...
Then there was you.
You were the three reasons I found the strength to keep breathing...
The strength to look up and see the sun rise for the past 365 days.
And how can I not be hopeful about each day's sunrise, when I get to be yours...
I love you.
I love you.
~Mama
"Every morning the sun rises and you get to rise? That's God saying He believes in you, He believes in the story He's writing through you." Ann Voskamp
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