by Kate Willoughby Hall, sappy mom of three who started this site Richmondmom.com but had a much bigger message to share, to follow.
So our netflix queue just let loose and sent us P.S. I Love You.
And I had to write this. Even though there’s no real cause. I have no brain tumor. I have no death sentence. But I have a sense of urgency calling because of this sappy movie that made my eyes well-shut with tears and if I am hit by a bus tomorrow or am given a sentence of grave illness, must tell my family how I feel. So bear with me please.
First of all, there’s no P.S. I’m here. I love you. You’re my whole reason for being. This whole website, this is just a way for me to connect with amazing women and help all of us Richmond moms make it through and be better people as we raise you. It’s not my purpose. Daddy–you gave the best gift you could, and know that you are my love light. And I know you’ll agree with what I have to say to our kids, as follows.
You are the ones that made me bow down to my body as it grew and burst and crumbled as you decided to show your faces. You are the ones who decided to come (on your own terms of course, you come by that naturally) late and via c-section and causing much initial pain, but eternal gratefulness. You are the ones that made us throw aside our previously-in-charge work schedules and help us realize that our soon-to-be sleep-schedules are really the boss of how our days would rule.
You are the ones that would make me light up, to amaze at the wrinkled-up smile, the size of the damn poops for Gods’ sakes, the coos that would make my very heart melt and the cries that would break my sweet sleep. Your fevers would be the ones that would bring me to my knees, whose head injury would leave me begging for Jesus Christ himself to sacrifice me and to save you, to not make you go through another MRI and to take me instead of there was a brain injury. God didn’t see fit to take you then. My tears will never ever share the gratitude I feel for that.
You drank from my breast and I cradled you in my arms and I will never recover from the ridiculous speed at which you began walking and didn’t need me much anymore as you started feeling your way around your own world soon after.
You are the ones that would make us exasperated–your dad and I–at each ear infection, each temper tantrum, each transition from crib to big-kid bed. Each immunization made us feel comforted yet frightened as we don’t know yet what current traumas like autism are caused by, and we fear each possible risk we put you through.
You are the ones that I would die for, and unlike this movie it’s rare and unlikely that a brain tumor will take me from you. For the love of all that’s good I pray that I will be here to rake you over the coals about how you raise your children and squeeze them until they’re embarrassed, because that’s my God-given right and I really don’t care what you think about that.
I probably won’t be as organized as the movie to leave you any letters, so I’ll just tell you now: You’re my reason. I love you. Don’t ever forget it. And P.S: Be a better person than I am. And show the most love that you can in your lifetime. If you do, my life—no matter how long I’m lucky to have—will have purpose.
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