A Letter for My Kids- And The One I Wish I Had Read

Some things need to be said out loud. Some things need to be shown. And some things... well, some things need to be written down so they can be read over and over again, long after I’m gone.

This is one of those things.

But as I wrote it, I couldn’t help but wonder; what if I had received a letter like this? What if my parents, in their own way, had wanted to say these things but never found the words? This is a letter for my children, filled with all the love, hope, and quiet prayers I hold for them.

And what if, by reading this; you realize that this letter was meant for you, too?

A Letter for My Children…

One day, you’re going to read this, and I hope you feel every ounce of love I’ve poured into these words. Because even though it seems like a lot, it doesn’t exactly capture how deep my love for you truly is.

I hope you know that from the moment you took your first breath, my entire world shifted. People say parenting is exhausting, and they’re right! I am tired. But it’s not just ‘didn’t get enough sleep’ tired. I am soul-tired from loving you so much it physically hurts sometimes. I watch you grow, and it’s the greatest joy of my life. But it’s also the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Because every day, you inch further away from needing me the way you do now. And I know, that’s how it’s supposed to be, but damn, it’s hard!

I hope you always know that love is yours, no matter what. You don’t have to earn it. You don’t have to prove anything to me, or to anyone. You don’t have to be perfect, or strong, or have it all figured out. My love is not a “because you did this” kind of love. It’s a “no matter what” kind of love. And someday, when you find love, I hope you always continue to understand and recieve a “no matter what” kind of love.

I hope you know that I see you. I see you trying so hard. I see the way the world weighs on you sometimes. I see the way you shrink yourself when you think you’re too much. But you, my love, are never too much. This world will try to convince you otherwise, but don’t listen. Be bold. Be loud. Take up space.

You were never meant to be small.

I hope you know how strong you are. Not just in the “lift something heavy” way (though, yes, I will always ask you to help carry the groceries), but in the way you keep going even when things feel impossible. You come from a long line of resilience, a will to keep going. It’s in your blood, in your bones, in the stories of those who came before you. Even when you feel like you’re falling apart, I promise you, you are still standing. And I am right there beside you.

I hope you let yourself feel. The world will tell you to toughen up, to push things down, to move on too quickly. Don’t. Feel everything. Let joy take over your whole body. Let sadness sit with you when it needs to. Let love in, even when it’s terrifying. Don’t be afraid of the messiness of being human; it means you’re alive.

I hope you never forget that no matter how old you get, no matter where life takes you, you will always have a home with me. You could be 5 years old, reaching for my hand, or 35, sitting at my kitchen table with coffee and tired eyes. I will always be here to listen and support you with whatever it is that you need. I will always love you in a way that words will never fully capture.

One day, when you have kids of your own (or if you don’t, that’s okay too), you’ll truly understand. You’ll understand why I worried when you were five minutes late, why I watched you sleep when you were a baby, (and still check on you now), why I still keep every single crumpled-up drawing like it’s priceless art. You’ll understand that no matter what you do, no matter how much time passes, you will always be my baby.

But more than anything, I hope you carry this love with you. That even when life gets hard, even when I’m not there to remind you, you never forget how deeply and unconditionally loved you are.

All my love, All my life,

Mom

Now, Imagine If This Letter Was Meant for You..

What if this had been written this for you? What if your parent(s), tired, doing the best they could, had written something like this but never gave it to you? Would we have understood it back then? Or would we have rolled our eyes and shrugged it off, not realizing the depth of their love? Maybe they didn’t say it like this. Maybe they never said it at all. But that doesn’t mean they didn’t feel it. It doesn’t mean they weren’t whispering silent hopes and dreams for us, carrying these thoughts and feelings we never even knew about.

But here’s what I know: love like that doesn’t disappear. It stays. It stays in the way we parent our own children. In the lessons we didn’t even realize we learned. In the little things that make us stop and think, wow, I sound just like them. It’s in the way we instinctively comfort our children. In the foods that taste like childhood, or the phrases we swore we’d never say (but somehow slip out of our mouths anyway).

Maybe they didn’t write it down, but they showed us. They showed us in the way they made sure we had food on the table, in the way they held us when we cried, or in the way they stayed up late worrying but never let us see it.

And now, here we are, loving our children with that same intensity, carrying that same unspoken devotion.

Maybe this letter is theirs, too. And.. Maybe it’s always been there.. wrapped up in every quiet act of love.

If you’re, like me and have lost a parent, this letter might feel like a gut punch. Maybe you read it with a lump in your throat, wishing you could pick up the phone and hear their voice again, or thinking about all the things you never got to ask them about raising children. But remember, just like us, they didn’t have the guidebook. But they had love. And so much of it. And that love is still here. That love lingers in the scent of their old clothes we can’t bring ourselves to part with, in the songs that bring tears to our eyes, in the moments we instinctively reach for the phone after a stressful day or scan a crowd for them before the ache of remembering they’re no longer physically here.

So, if you’ve lost a parent or if you never got to hear these words from them; I hope you can feel them now.

Because some things don’t need to be spoken to be true. Some things are simply felt.

Now, take a deep breath. Read the letter again. But this time, read it as if it’s from them… to you.