There is a lot I don’t remember. I wish I could recall it all, bring it up like a saved file safely stored away. There’s so much I can’t remember. But there is so much that I do. I remember the way your wispy newborn hair felt against my lips when I kissed your little head. I remember your first night at home…you slept in a bassinet by the bed, and when you fussed, I put my hand on your chest and you stopped crying. I was amazed that this tiny creature responded to my touch – that all you wanted was to know you weren’t alone. You weren’t, and you never, ever will be. That I promise you.

As the first, you unfortunately were the one to experience the most mistakes. I have regrets and I remember many days I would go back and rewrite if I could. But through it all, you’ve been a light – shining bright and making everyone take notice. You are exceptional. 

You may not believe it, but I remember your first day of preschool. I was so nervous, and so were you! I had your little sister to take care of, and she was a good distraction from missing you, but when it was time to pick you up, I was so happy to see the smile on your face! I was so happy to know that you could thrive without me, for a few hours. And I was so happy to have you back in my arms. Kindergarten was another story altogether. You cried every day for months. And so did I. I spent more time than you could have known, sitting in the parking lot of your school and crying, just wanting to be near my sweet boy. I knew you would be okay – and eventually, you were. But the separation was painful and I yearned for the moment I could pick you up every day.

Soon, you took school by storm. You have always been incredibly bright, and an exceptional student. You are kind, funny, and likable. You blossomed. Even as things between me and your father began to deteriorate, you held fast. You didn’t flinch. You kept your head above water despite my distracted state. The divorce was hard on all of us, but maybe hardest of all for you. As the eldest, you were the one who had known our core family the longest. You were old enough to understand that your life as you knew it was ending.  You were old enough to know that you were becoming what you never wanted to be: the child of divorced parents. Still, you were steadfast. Your concerns were rarely for yourself, and almost always for me. You were just a kid, but you found yourself taking care of your mom, and I relied on you. Probably a little too much. But you never complained. Through a global pandemic, virtual school, and everything it entailed, you stayed strong.

When I met your stepdad, you could have been surly about it. You could have refused to welcome him into our little family unit. But you didn’t. You welcomed him with an open heart and bonded with him quickly. He soon began to see the spark in you that I have always admired, and  came to deeply admire you too. 

Watching you grow and thrive has been the greatest, most indescribable privilege. Seeing you thrive in school, in relationships, in playing the sport that you love, in bonding with your siblings, grandparents, aunts, and uncles, you have never ceased to amaze me. When I look up at you – what a world, looking up at my little boy – I am struck by how grown you are. You’re practically a man, and I am not ready to let go. I still want to sit in the parking lot outside your school. I still want to hold your hand as you journey on to your next adventures. I’m not ready to let go. So consider this letter, my words on your 18th birthday, to be that hand on your chest that consoled you as a newborn. The comforting weight that lets you know that you are not alone. Your mama is here. Always.