On Mother’s Day and every day, I’m always thankful for the kind, caring, loving children I was somehow gifted with. On days when I just didn’t want to go on, much less get out of bed, they kept me going. I know someday they won’t want to hold my hand, or kiss my cheek, or sleep in my bed, but today, they still do. I’m so proud of the people they’re growing up to be, even on the days I get frustrated and angry with their constant fighting, or my own impatience gets the better of me.
For Mother’s Day, I’m sharing the two poems below, written years ago. They’re old favorites, and always will be.
For Piper (before there was Jack):
Now I Lay You Down to Sleep
If I die before you wake,
Know I loved you best.
Before you were even dreamed of
Or grew a heart, lungs, lips
I loved you best.
There were never two eyes as beautiful,
Never a laugh so full of life,
Never a cry as sharp as a knife,
Until you.
I would hover and watch you sleep
If footsteps on squeaky floorboards
Didn’t raise your blond head.
If I die before you wake,
I will miss your small hands
Tugging gently at my hair,
Always reaching, reassuring yourself
That I was there.
When you were born,
I didn’t see them pull your pink body out
On the other side of the blue curtain,
And in my drugged state,
My arms couldn’t hold you.
I could only stare at the sterile drop ceiling and bright overhead lights
And listen to the wonderful strength
Of your first screams.
“You’re beautiful” played on the radio.
If I die before you wake,
It’s not because I wanted to.
I wanted to be there
When you woke up,
But life had other ideas.
I wanted you to wake up and find me,
In my pink armchair,
Scribbling in my notebook,
Drinking my coffee,
My lap waiting for you to jump into it,
My neck waiting for your arms to encircle it.
If I die before you wake,
Know that if you fight with your father,
It’s only because
You’re just like him –
Neither one of you know when to give up,
So let him have the last word now and then.
If I die before you wake,
Know that I could never quite get behind the idea
Of god or heaven,
But my last wish
Was to hold you close again.
If I die before you wake,
Know I loved you best.
In the Spring of my 34th Winter (or My Jack)
You were born on a Tuesday in January,
And right on schedule.
Different than your sister from the start.
She was a Thursday in October
And 10 days early.
At your first cry,
The swelling of my heart
Pushed the tears out and down my cheeks.
After weeks and months
Of worry,
Relief washed over me
In warm waves.
My Jack.
My rainbow.
My beautiful sunshine baby.
by Julie Blue 