Roo.

I remember the first moment that I held you in my arms. I was stunned that you had no teeth. In my mind, I knew that babies didn't have teeth when they were born but I couldn't get over the shock of this pink, screaming, gummy kid.

It was daunting but you were cute. I loved your big brown eyes and the fact that you were as bald as an egg. You were gigantic and you cried a lot. I was expected to try and get up and feed you, but I couldn't do it. I didn't have the support or patience to breastfeed you and I stopped after less than a week. It's still high on my list of regrets.

You changed my life because you made me a mother, but I wish I had allowed you to change me more. I think that, in hindsight, I had some pretty gnarly postpartum depression going on. I know that I brought you into an ugly situation too. I'm so sorry. I was so selfish. I was unbelievably selfish. I was young and I was stupid. I wasn't ready to be a mom at nineteen. I hated your father and he hated me. I was a self-destructive, self-loathing person and all of a sudden, I was expected to care for a baby. I didn't deserve you.

I left you with sitters who were questionable. I had trouble keeping a job. I smoked and drank. I put cereal in your bottle and it was propped up with a blanket. I often resented you for waking me up in the morning. But I loved you. I was just too young to love you the right way. It took a long time for me to get to the point where I could love you right. Maybe by then it was too late because I know that things will never be the same again. A lot has happened in the last six years, hasn't it?

Now, you will be six in just over a week. You are beautiful and so smart and so verbal. You are so well-adjusted. I have never seen anyone who I think is so precious. I see your dad in your smile but the rest of your face is all mine. I want you to know that I love you. I love you for making me a mother. I want you to know that I am sorry. I am sorry that I wasn't the mother that you deserved. I want you to know that I will spend the rest of my life trying to make you proud. I will spend my life making it up to you, if I can.

Someday, I will sit down with you and read you this letter. Someday I will hold you close and tell you everything. We will talk like two adults. I will share with you why things are the way that they are. I will share with you how infinitely and immeasurably I love you. I hope that you will accept these explanations. It is my deepest, most sincere wish that I will be able to tell you, "You changed me. It is because of you that I am who I am today," and that you will see that as a compliment and an accomplishment on your part.

Love,
Mom

Dear You.

I don't remember your name. What I do remember is that you were friends with my uncle while he lived in Kansas. I don't remember what he was doing in Kansas, but I remember visiting him there for a summer. I remember a lot of things about that trip. I remember waking up with a gigantic canker sore and him rushing me to the dentist. I remember eating a lot of oranges. I remember you.

You were really tan and you had blond hair. You were his friend in a place where he was far away from his wife and the rest of his family. Looking back, my guess is that you had a crush on him. My uncle is the smartest, kindest, most intelligent man that I know. He's handsome and athletic. He's a doctor. He likes kids and he loves dogs. He's funny and he can draw well. He's that person that is good at any and everything that he does. I was in awe of him as a small child and I am still in awe of him today. In fact, possibly even more so now. I won't go into that here though. We're here to talk about you.

You and my uncle took me to a place that was similar to Chuck E. Cheese. It had really lame food, games, tickets to be won, and it probably wasn't very impressive. I liked it then though because I was a kid. I remember you tirelessly playing Skeeball with me. You won tickets for me and took part in all of the games. You even smiled for a couple of pictures with me. I still have them. I have long, brown, ratty hair. I am wearing a shirt with a cartoon character on it. You have on shorts and a white tee. You look genuinely happy to be with me.

I remember that I cashed in my tickets for a slinky. It was silver and I ruined it on my uncle's apartment stairs later that night. Then, my uncle and I left Kansas. I believe we drove to Illinois together because he was finally moving back to live with his wife. They'd only lived apart because he was a grad student and she had a really important job that she couldn't leave. I was sad to say goodbye to you and I kept calling you my friend.

I only knew you for one day. You were very nice to me. Thanks.

Love,
Molly

SiahBoo.

Jesiah Brady,

I am cheating writing you this letter. I made you pinky promise me something just so I could write to you. Also because I have no clue who the other last person I pinky promised was. You actually haven't pinkied me anything yet- you tried to make me promise to buy you a giant LEGO set from Walmart, but I told you it had to be something not involving money and you were stumped. You are in the backyard right now "talking it out" with your friend and since I am sure you will come up with something, I am starting my letter.
When I was pregnant with you I gained 100lbs. You were the perfect reason to eat whatever I felt like whenever I felt like it, so I ate nothing but pizza and Super China Buffet for 9 straight months. Because of this I got pre-eclampsia and had a rechid, horrible, terrible, unforgettable birthing experience. My blood pressure got so high and stayed that way for so long during your birth that even after you were out I was sick sick sick. My blood pressure wouldn't come down, I was sick from all the meds they used to keep me from seizing, and I had been cut open.

(You just came in to pinky promise me that I would let you wrestle with the boys outside. I said no. I here sighs of defeat coming from the backyard...oh you're coming back in- "Promise me I never have to go to school!" Uhm no.)

You looked JUST like your father. I couldn't breastfeed because you wouldn't latch on, and I was too sick and anxious to even try very hard. We did not connect. A week later when I got to go home, I was so engulfed in post postpartum depression Travis had to force me to interact with you. I am glad he did. I am glad your Daddy is strong for me when I can't be. So I held you. I fed you. I changed you. We connected. Your Dad left right about that time for 6ms, and it was just you and me.
I feel like it was pretty much just you and me from then on out for too long. I was your only constant, and I guess in a way still am. Back then your Dad and I weren't doing so hot. It wasn't good for you, or me, or him- so me and you packed it up and went to Grandaddies. I will never forget the guilt I felt over you not being able to have a Mom and Dad together. I will never forget how painful it was to leave you at Mrs. Deatons daycare every morning while you screamed your guts out because I had to work. You hated that place. Lucky for you, God showed up quickly and began to fix the situation between me and your Dad, and we ended up back where we belonged.
Things since then haven't been all sunshine and rainbows, but pretty darn close. You have had some bumps in the road, big ones and little ones. I know some of those bumps have been because of the earlier years in your life, and I wish I could change so much so that you wouldn't have to deal with "stuff" now. I know that I can't go back. I also know you are much stronger than any of us may think and just like a phoenix, will rise up from ash. You astound me Jesiah. You are by FAR the most interesting boy I know.

("Mama I think I finally found out- "You take me and Aiden to the beach." "Honey, it's fall." "I need to keep thinking.")

You are the epitome of a 50/50 mix of mother and father. You are creative, artistic and eccentric. You are thoughtful and sensitive, kind and caring. You are SO loud and SO weird. You are rough and tumble until you get hurt and then you are either really really mad at your aggressor or crying like a small child. You are mohawks and skinny jeans- far too young to have such a sweet sense of fashion. You prefer hip-hop music to any other genre available. You have no patience and you hate sweating more than anything in the world. You hate when other kids talk about things that are inappropriate and you tell them so. You are a cuddle-bug, who always makes sure he gets prayed for at night, and wants me to lay with him and tell him silly made up stories. You were my saving grace. You are so many things Jesiah Brady Decker and I cannot wait to see who you become.

I love you forever no matter what,
Mama

PS. There has yet to be a pinky promise.

Dave, Revisited.

Bee-

I love you. I love you even more than I did in those first days of our relationship, when we made pinkie promises to each other about silly things. I love being a mom, don't get me wrong, but you are what gets me out of bed in the morning. You are the reason I get dressed each day, the motivation behind each mile I run, and the reason that I want to get a good job after I graduate.

I remember when I would make you pinkie promise that you loved me, because I was afraid that you were too good to be true. I still think that. You are too good to be true. There is no way that someone like you could possibly love an asshole like me. You're good in all of the ways that I'm not. I know that they say opposites attract, but we really are total opposites and I stand in awe of you. Every amazing quality that you have is one that I wish I had myself.

I spent a lot of time making you pinkie swear things to me. I don't do that anymore because five years and a family later, I am pretty sure that you're committed. I do have a couple of things that I could pinkie swear to you:

-I pinkie swear to always love you.
-I pinkie swear that you'll always feel at home wherever I am.
-I pinkie swear to be the best mom that I can be for our children.
-I pinkie swear to always make sure you have underwear that fit.
-I pinkie swear to do the best that I can to make a home that you want to come home to at night.
-I pinkie swear to never stop making fun of your sleepwalking.
-I pinkie swear to always tell you when you have bad breath.
-I pinkie swear that someday you and I will travel Europe together.
-I pinkie swear that I think you are the most handsome man in the world.


I could go on and on, but the bottom line is that I think that you are the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you more than I could ever explain. I feel lucky and blessed every day that I have a husband who loves me, wants to help me, wants to hang out with me, and treasures me as much as I treasure him. I hope that I make you feel as lucky as you make me feel.

Respeck,
Molly

G.

You are an amazing woman. I have watched you for over a year now and I am, truly, in awe of you. I remember when we first became friends, how I thought you were strong then. You were a first time mom, going through a very long deployment, and you were totally calm about it. You confidently and gracefully made astoundingly unselfish choices for your sweet son. You had been dairy-free for almost a year for the sake of breastfeeding. Your son was cloth diapered, co-sleeping, and gently guided through life. You'd had a long journey toward becoming a mother and you were determined to embrace it fully. You were one of the best moms I had ever met.

Now, here we are. We will be friends forever but your whole life has changed. Everything came crashing down around you. Now you live far away from me and we don't get the chance to talk as often as I'd like. Here's the part that I am in awe of: You haven't faltered for even a moment. You haven't stumbled. You haven't whined. You rolled up your sleeves, dusted off your "bad ass mamajama" pants, and got your hands dirty. You have busted your butt to do the best things you can as a mom and as a person. You are bad ass.

I know that you have your moments. I know that you are lonely and hurting. I know that this has not been easy. I also know, because I have watched, that you are rocking it. You are doing a damn fine job, my friend. I wish that I were closer to you so that I could babysit or just come over and cook you dinner after a long day at school. I wish that I could sit and gab with you for hours on end and get your take on everything. I wish that you were here to watch Puff grow up and to hear the fact that "Goldie" has actually gotten a little closer to the real thing.

I wish that I could be of more help to you, because I know that the weight on shoulders must be crushing. I'm sorry that I can't. What I can do is write you this letter and let you know that I think you are doing fantastic. I know that you have an amazing life ahead of you. I know that the future is going to be bright for you and your son. I know this because you will refuse to accept anything but the brightest future imaginable. You will not quit until you and he are secure, happy, and well cared for. I know you and I know that you will make the world's best lemonade out of life's lemons.

You are an all-powerful, amazon warrior.

Love you. Kiss that baby for me.

-Molly

To The Land of the Free.

Dear America,

I don't know you all that well. I don't know anything about congress or budget costs or debt ceilings or medicare. I don't know if any of the solutions politicians are offering to fix this place are worth voting for or not. I have never voted for anything, not even American Idol. I don't know if Obama is better than Bush, or if he is even a legal resident of the US. I don't know anything about state laws concerning the right to bear arms or how much marijuana someone can have on their person without being arrested. I am not in the know about you and your legality issues, America.
What I do know is this. We aren't doing hot. We owe lots of money to lots of people, and the value of our dollar is dropping. There is a ridiculous amount of people living in poverty and working really hard to get out of it, that we do nothing for. There is also a ridiculous amount of people living in poverty and milking it that we do everything for. I know people who rob a bank can go to jail for 10+ years, but sometimes someone rapes a child and gets out in 5. I know that said people only get worse in jail because the system is whack. I know we are fighting a war that isn't actually a war and good innocent people are dying every day because of it. I know there are people all over the planet dying because they don't have clean water, and it would take very little monetarily on our part to help, but instead we spend all our money on clothes and shoes and cars and food that is awful for us. I know that this country is creating and selling food chemically altered that will eventually kill us, but marketing it as if it is gold. I know the same people that work for the FDA are also head reps for pharmaceutical company's that treat all the illnesses created by said chemically altered food. I know that kids are bringing guns to school. Little kids, who shouldn't even know what hate is. I know that the majority of the people in charge of this place are dirty, lying, self seeking money mongers. You can't do too well for too long with people like that at the top. I could go on forever.
You want God out of schools and government, and then you wonder why everything is so vile and backwards and ugly, why people are so angry. You want God out, but then want us to pray when things are going wrongly, when everything is falling apart. You want to take out everything good, and selfless and fill it with the idea that the individual is who matters. YOU YOU YOU. DO YOU. TAKE CARE OF YOU. LOOK OUT FOR YOU. No wonder we are a mess America. We are a nation of people that could be functioning in community, looking out for each other, doing what is right by our peers both nationally and internationally. Instead we are a nation of individuals looking out only for ourselves, and doing whatever it takes to have more of everything that means power. You're a disaster, and you are only getting worse.

Brooks Decker

Dearest Robynne,

I wish we could go back to the weekend before Zoe was born, when we ate delicious food and watched a chick flick together and excitedly discussed your impending labor. When we shopped for the last few baby items and I cackled at the sight of you trying to get your fully pregnant body into an inner tube. When we floated in the pool in the late July sunshine and soaked up the Summer. It was calm then, the calm before the biggest storm that would completely annihilate every dream you were holding in your hands. It was a bittersweet time, that weekend. I think of you and your perfectly round belly, your colorful bikini top and a dandelion tucked behind your ear. I smile at the memory and I curse it all in one breath. It's unfathomable how life can change so quickly and how fast it can turn its back on you.

When we say that losing a child is the worst possible experience one could ever face in life, it's not a cliche. It is the stuff of nightmares. It is the reason I woke up, sobbing and sweating in the middle of the night when Aidan was young and I'd had a dream that he was hit by a semi-truck. It is the reason I panicked after five full minutes of losing Rylan in a department store. It is the dark, obsessive wanderings of my mind when my children are away from me and the unimaginable horrors I have heard on the nightly news bubble to the forefront of my mind. It is the fear that was hiding in the center of my chest as Tristan was surrounded by a flurry of white coats in an Emergency Room, sick with pneumonia. It is the insanity that made me put my hand to Jack's face every few minutes when he was a newborn, to check for his exhalations. It is the reason why the industry has produced a childproof lock for everything. Mini blind strings. The sharp corners of a coffee table. Electrical outlets. The knife drawer. The oven. Every mother carries the fear within her, tries to stifle it, tries to not let it overwhelm her and invade every waking moment.

So when people say, "I cannot even begin to imagine what you're going through," this, to me, is the cliche. We have all imagined it, whether we've morbidly entertained the thought or have only let it slide past the backs of our eyelids before we've quickly brushed it away. Every mother who hears your story is crying with you. Every mother who has carefully tucked away the seed of crippling fear deep in her chest, has the knowledge that the possibility of losing her child is a result of the overwhelming and expansive love they feel, and never quite experienced until they were transformed into mothers. The woman who has just discovered two lines on a home pregnancy test feels it, and the great grandmother who is taking her last breath of life is still feeling it. We are all hoping and praying and begging that our children will outlive us.

And so, every day that you wake up to a life without your daughter, and you make yourself a cup of tea, I am astonished. Every day that you prepare your breakfast or brush your teeth or take a shower or make a phone call, or just simply put one foot in front of the other, I stand in utter amazement. As the days have slid into weeks and now into months, and you have found your laughter again, I am humbled by your strength. Every step you take, even backwards and then forward again, are proof that you are the most astounding woman I have ever known. I know that you feel crazy, and even in those crazy times, I want you to see what I see. That hidden under the layers and layers of sorrow and an outstanding amount of grief, is a spirit that cannot be broken, even when it feels that way to you. Even when you feel that you've lost your mind, everyone around you can only see a mother who is making her way through life with grace and reverence and beauty. Your strength persists. It is there and it is thriving, even in the moments when you feel the weakest. And in those moments, I will be there. In all of my sarcastic glory and my inappropriate humor and my stubborn unwillingness to shed too many tears; I will be there. And each and every time you need a help up, my hand will be extended to you. Not out of pity, but as a token of my gratitude for allowing me to walk beside you during the darkest days of your life. And for the lessons and the gifts that your life and Zoe's have given me.

I love you, lady. Just keep swimming.

Rae