Inheritance

I look at you both in this perfect state of youthful bliss. Your days consist of trips to the playground, meals prepared by loving hands, and evening stories of witches and heroes and a world filled with hopeful, happy endings. I wake up some mornings and wonder at the ways I am destroying you without meaning to do so. When I am tired and haven’t slept enough and am stressed about whether I’ll have a job after my maternity leave is over, I tell you I can’t play pretend and I don’t have time for one more story. Sometimes there are tears because you fell and the fall itself scared you but you aren’t physically injured and I am just so sick of being needed that I shrug off your very real, very important feelings.

I fail in a thousand ways every day with you and I wish, more than anything, that I could be perfect. You greet me every morning with your sweet kisses and your stories and your incessant singing; you make my world infinitely more complex and beautiful and filled to bursting and I hope the moments in which I take you for granted are limited.

I read news stories of the day and I think about all the ways the world might destroy you. Bicyclists run off the road and stabbed by terrorists, a government with a sparkling exterior but an interior rotted by maggots, the wealthier getting more power and money at the expense of those most in need of aid, and suicide and drug use increasing with the pace of the desperation of the masses. A planet that is warming, storms increasing in severity each year, and an uncertain future for all the living creatures on this planet. Was it selfish of me to wish for you in the darkest moments of the night, to dream with Tim about who our future little people might be, about the things they may hope for and one day accomplish?

Did my ancestors look to the future with dread, worried what would become of their children and grandchildren? In the depth of World War II, when victory was far from certain, did they lie awake at night and wonder at the arrogance of bringing little humans into such chaos?

Regardless of where we are all headed, I hope you know that I look at you and I know that you can be a part of the solution. I know that you can and will be kind and good and true and that you will provide light in the darkest places and hope to those who have surrendered. I want you to think critically and for yourself, but mostly, I want you to strive to goodness. I want you to be brave and push against those who would tell you what to do or how to think. I want you to have the enormity of character to forgive those who have done you harm and to avoid, when possible, inflicting pain on those around you (and especially upon those who you perceive not to deserve such mercy). I want you to treat this planet with a gentle hand, allowing green things to grow where previously they could not. And if you are with friends or with strangers and there is not enough food or warmth or shelter to be had, convince yourself that half shall be more than enough (and that the rest can be found in the warmth of good company, of true companionship, and friends who are more akin to family).

I awake in the morning with uncertainty and worry and I am greeted with your laughter and your smiles and your unconditional love. It is an infinite blessing to find myself beside you, to call myself your mother. Be kind. Be brave. And let’s not stop laughing and laughing and laughing ourselves to tears because these moments are temporary and one day, I will leave this place to you. And I hope my dear ones, to have left it better for having been here. To have left you better for having been your mama.