Today I’m remembering when I became a mother – and how blessed I am by my precious daughters! I’m remembering all the love and joy you both have given me throughout the years. I’m thinking about what I most want to give you …
It wouldn’t be money, it wouldn’t be things, it wouldn’t be television, or the social media of today. It wouldn’t be school, or college, or jobs, or cars, or houses, or the myriads of things that appear to be important in this world …
It would be the rocking chair where I sat on Christmas Eve of 1957, wondering what you were going to look like — and if you were a girl or boy. It would be the love of our family who gathered to celebrate Christmas in Denton because you were scheduled to be born on this blessed night. It would be the tiny four-room frame house just a few blocks from the University of North Texas campus that your dad and I were renting while he was finishing his degree. It would be the crowded room that was hardly large enough for the whole family, but they crowded in. It would be the rush to open Christmas presents, it would be all the faces staring at me and wondering when …
It would be my thoughts on that special day; I had carried you with me for nine months and I wasn’t a bit sure I wanted to let go of you. It would be the first trip to hospital about six in the evening, and after the doctor checked me, he sent us back home. I have always been fully convinced he just wanted to go home and finish opening his presents! So home we went, only to return in two hours, and you were born at 11:45 on Christmas Eve night. What a blessed time … my family filled the waiting room while a miracle happened and I delivered a beautiful girl. Quite bald, quite tiny, with glowing perfect skin that had no wrinkles, and the loudest cry in the entire nursery. And I knew you were special —my baby, my Kimberly.
It would be the bed I had to stay during three months of my next pregnancy because of complications. It would be the love of my family who took care of me. It would be my mother who came and took four-year old Kim home with her because I wasn’t supposed to lift her or get out of bed. It would be the love of your dad when he picked up Kim each evening and brought her home, then cooked our evening meal, washed clothes, and did whatever housework had to be done. It would be the husband who loved me every minute of that difficult time. And who kept on crunching ice!
It would be the bumpy roads that we drove over during the ninth month hoping that labor would start. It would be the uniqueness of a ten-month pregnancy that was documented by the doctor. We were pretty sure you had to be a boy since our daughter had been exactly on time and this pregnancy was so different! It would be the long weekend before you were born on Monday July 2 when everyone stared at me again! It would be the large group of family that came to fill the waiting room when our second miracle was born. Another beautiful girl… with a head full of very dark brown hair, quite skinny and long, and who seemed to sleep all the time! And I knew once again I had a very special child — my baby, my Teresa.
It would be a husband who not only changed diapers, but hung them on the clothes line in the back yard. It would be the dad who sang Scarlet Ribbons to his treasured daughters. It would be a mother who tried to make a perfect home. Operative word is tried, but I don’t think anyone ever succeeds at that. It would be a mother and dad who tried to create special memories, of traveling, and eating out, of roasting hot dogs in the fireplace, and picnics on the den floor. It would be stories of kings and queens, of where birds, and Snails Who Leave Trails, and scary masks at slumber parties!
It would be the love the mother and father had for each other. It would be the love they had for each daughter, each different, each special in her own way.
If I could give you one thing, I would tell you that when I need a miracle, I look into a daughter’s eyes, and realize I have already created one, no two miracles. I would tell you that beauty exists at all ages — that you are beautiful, and I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.
I would tell you to trust your inner voice. You are the blending of two people and you have a bit of each of them inside of you. I would tell you that you have the ability to do anything you want to.
Most of all, if I could give you one thing — I would have stood in the gap that was left when your dad died, but no one could do that. I would tell you that he was completely unique as you both are. I would tell you that he loved you deeply, and to remember him singing Sunrise Sunset to you.
If I could give you one more thing, I would tell you that it takes courage to live and to become who you really are. I would tell you that it took me a long, long, long time, but you both know that. I would also tell you, my darlings, it is so worth it. Again, I say, listen to your inner voice, and never, ever say it’s too late.
I would remind you … you are loved by me, by your dad, and by your Heavenly Father, the King of the universe.
One last thing, I want you to remember — you are a royal Princess, you are a daughter of the King!
Wow, I loved this!
I love this! Absolutely beautiful!
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what a beautiful gift, Betty. they are who they are because of who you are, as well. a remarkable, loving, woman of God! i’m happy to know you.
Thank you. They are special!
Betty, you are a jewel, so they must be too!!
That was just lovely! Thanks for sharing, mama. I will cherish this for years to come. I love and appreciate you so much. ❤
Oh, Betty – how beautiful. I have a lump in my throat just like when I read your memoir about the Christmas gift from your husband after he passed. I wish you would compile some of these in a book. I would buy it! Your children and grandchildren will be so blessed and so grateful to have your memoirs.
That was absolutely beautiful. I was moved to tears. Love pam
This was beautiful. Thank you. 🙂