Twenty-five years ago this month, I became a mother. I’ve never done anything else in my life that was so instantaneously earth-shattering. The memories of that first year are a mixture of hours and days that flew by in an exhausted blur, and moments that seem etched on my mind – holding her as she slept, seeing her smile for the first time at me in particular because I was Mommy, the absolute awe of just how upset such a tiny little person could become.  My emotions careened between a love so fierce that it broke my heart and an equally fierce and disquieting fear. WHAT have I DONE?!

It was a little over five years, and two more babies, before I attempted to write down some of my feelings. I can’t remember if I wrote before 9/11, or if it that was the impetus for the writing. What I do remember is that it was the first time I shared something I wrote – hoping that it might help, that it might be a comfort. I shared it with two friends who had just become mothers themselves, either on that day or very close to it.

I’ve lost the exact words I wrote, but it was pretty short, and I remember the gist of it. I’ve recreated it below in honor of the occasion.

Turns out, I had done the most difficult, most amazing thing in the world.

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Just before you were born God kissed you, so that when I first saw you, you were still glowing with His light.

 I lay your head against my heart and stroked your skin, so soft that I could scarcely feel it.

 “God,” I said, “I don’t understand how I could have a part in something so incredible.”

 “I know,” God said. “She is a gift. I created her.”

 I marveled at your tiny fingers and toes. I stared and stared at your darling face.

 “God,” I said, “I don’t understand how I can love her this much.”

 “I know,” God said. “She is very precious. I loved her even before you did.”

 I held you very close to me. I looked around at the world, and then I held you just a little bit tighter.

 “But she’s so perfect, God,” I said, “and she’s still shining with your light.”

 “I know,” God said. “I created her.”

 I felt you breathing, and I did not want to ever let you go.

“But, God,” I said, “I love her so much.”

“I know,” God said. “I love her even more than you do.”

“But, God,” I said, “The world is so dark, and she doesn’t belong here. And I’m afraid.”

 “I know,” God said. “But I will be with you. I will be with you both – always. Just show her the way home.”