Remember This Moment

A letter to my future self - as an empty nester.....

Do not open this letter until your last child has moved out of the house.

December 30, 2014

Dear Lindsey,

If you're reading this, it means that your last child has moved out of the house.  The house that burnt down and was rebuilt, just for you and your sweet tiny family.  Grab yourself a glass of wine, and get comfy on your crumbless couch. Hopefully by now, you aren't using the wine rack as toddler shoe storage, and the cubby where it's supposed to fit in your hutch isn't storing diapers and diaper bags.  Remember this set up??

This year, 2014, has brought you so many hardships and joys.  Right now, the younger, albeit hopefully much more overweight and ragged version of yourself, thinks it's a great idea to remind you of everything you've overcome - because even though this year has felt like an eternity, in the big scheme of life, this will just seem like another fleeting moment.  You owe it to yourself, to be reminded.

These past few weeks, you were waiting on test results for a life changing complication for Toby.  He has been through the gamut.  For months now, he's been amazing.  Growing so fast you can't keep clothes on him, or shoes for that matter.  But he started showing symptoms of another hormone deficiency - also controlled by the deformed part of his pituitary, and this one isn't as easily treated as his already know Growth Hormone deficiency. Luckily, you don't need to relive this moment, because for now, this hormone is fine. Many bruises later from strong hands sifling blood, you've seen the results online, and can exhale. You filed this relief in a folder housing a year's worth of worry and pain, tucked it neatly inside the filing cabinet, and locked it shut.

 

 

You may need to relive this again, and again and again - as his condition can never improve, and only get worse.  But, you have learned in the short 7 months since its been discovered how to cope, and how to thrive and how to remain optimistic when the chances of something spiraling downhill are a threat hovering just around the corner.  Remember that feeling.  Close your eyes now, and breathe. 

Remember that day when he was cold and pale.  Unresponsive.  Remember that moment you thought you wouldn't be able to live if you didn't have him.  Wipe your eyes and breathe. 

Remember the tests, the constant needles.  Tubes - In and out, tangling, bleeding, vomit.  The messiness that covered those hospital rooms, mirroring the messiness in your brain, trying to understand what was happening, and better yet - WHY.  Stop, and breathe.

 

 

Remember all those doctors and nurses, who made you feel surrounded.  Not alone.  Remember all your new friends you've made.  Gobs and gobs of new parents just like you, who had been through, or were going through the exact things you were.  Giving advice, reassurance and friendship.  Hopefully by now you've been able to provide comfort and solace for new parents who have babies going through the same stuff - because you've been there, and have survived.

Now, take a big gulp of wine, and pat yourself on the back.  Because if you're reading this, it means you did it.  Right now in 2014, you're thinking - who cares what your son grows up to be, as long as he grows up.  He can love whomever he chooses to love, go to college or go to work, stay at home for as long as he wants, or leave when he's 18.  Many things that parents are wrought with worry about, you take a breathe and exhale.  Because if you are dealing with any of that right now, it means he's here.  And that's ALL that matters.  You wouldn't have known that feeling, unless you were so close to losing him. You are blessed. 

And your daughter, at just 15 months old right now and the size of almost a 2 year old - just amazes you everyday.  Her strength, almost that of a adult! Making keeping track of and containing her all the more exhausting.  Exhaust. Two straight years of it.  You might not be able to remember everything now - it may be fuzzy and you may only want to remember her absolutely adorable smiling dimples, but it was there.  Dont' forget it.

These past few weeks she's been sick.  Started with the flu, and ended with croup (again). Remember those nights where she was up all night crying and coughing.  That switch of annoyance because you've been woken up, changing to concern and the 'there's-nothing-I-wont -do-to-make-you-feel-better' mode of a mother.  Standing in the shower at 5am so she can finally sleep on your shoulder - your back hurting and cold from the warm water (instead of scalding like you like).  But she's sleeping, finally, drooling on your arm as the warm water beats on her back.  Remember this moment. 

The constant standing, and running, and wiping and cleaning.  Diapers and wipes for days and days.  Bottles, sippys, cutting up tiny food and vacuuming until you can't vacuum anymore.  Crumbs in cracks, stains on brand new outfits.  Your bathtub downstairs is a hamper - its literally full of clothes and blankeys and sheets.  Carseats and coats - off and on.  Monitors, humidifiers, medical supplies.  Remember this moment. 

Its been years and years.  You've forgotten this haven't you.  You've forgotten how insanely hard it is to raise children, because you did it.  And like everything that takes hard work, you got through it, and the rewards have paid off exponentially.  Don't let the good blind you from the dedication it took.  Don't be sad they have left.  Don't think - "What will I do now?", "Who will I take care of?" , "When they don't need me who will?".

Your husband. 

Man, what a year.  They say weddings and funerals bring out the worst in families.  Add illness and raising small children.  You've snapped, he's snapped.  You have no other vent for your frustrations, or worry or exhaustion except for each other.  And it shows.  You've learned how to love someone so completely, but at the same time need to be so far away from them.  It's OK.  Take a breathe.  He's right there with you, like he always has been. 

This year, you've truly learned what it means to be a team.  Acting together, for a common goal - to have happy, healthy children.  And lastly, a happy, healthy relationship.  Sometimes team members can be selfish.  You are guilty of wanting a certain outcome so bad, you've closed off your team member and done things the way YOU think they should be done.  And you lose the game.  You're angry, more at yourself, and your teammate is angry, for not working with him.  And at times, he takes the ball and runs with it, in the opposite form you wanted him to go, and he loses the game for you.  And you both pout until the next game day, and you have to again, work together to get it done.  Some games are beautiful - neither one has errors, and the win is by a landslide.  Other days, you barely squeak by with a win. And some days, you just plain lose.  But at the end of the season, you come together because you know you both want the same thing. You both care deeply.  And unlike in sports, you both love each other more than anything. 

I hope by now he's still sitting in his chair, but now he's got control of the remote.  He's not grumpy because he wasn't woken up for a binky or a bottle in the middle of the night.  I haven't elbowed him that it was his turn in many, many years.  He can sit his drink on the end table and baby hands aren't picking it up and running with it, spilling along the way with each pitter patter.  Oh, there's the carpet cleaner again.  And yep, the vacuum.

Despite every argument, every snap and your backhanded comments to him - you couldn't have asked God to place a better man, and father, in your life.  Remember this moment.

If you ask any mother with grown children, what its like to raise them from babies, I gaurantee you'll only hear the postives.  You may hear that there were difficult times, but the statement is always followed by - "It's worth it."  I hope that you are the same way.  I hope that when someone asks you, you only recall the joy and happiness of this moment in time.  But, please, read this and do not completely forget everything your team has accomplished.  The victories and losses over time, molding you into the mother and wife you've always aspired to be.  Don't forget the hardships, because it's those lows and losses that made the wins and the highs so memorable. 

Here's to many more years, with your handsome husband, in cleanliness, in silence, in health, love and peace. 
 
Thank you for listening,

Lindsey