In the Event of my Untimely Demise*

Dear Children:

One day I'm going to die. I'm not gonna lie, I hope you're alive when that happens. No offense, but I would prefer not to put you in the ground first. (Or spread your ashes to the winds, as the case may be.) I really hope you survive me for quite a long while and lead happy, healthy, productive lives. My time could come 30 seconds from nowawr;as235 @#fakkoooooooocx ,bxncxb........



(just kidding!) or 70 years from now, but it's pretty inevitable when you consider the fate of life on our planet.

I'm pretty ok with the idea that I'm not gonna be around forever, except for the idea that I might leave you kids when you still need me. That freaks me the fuck out, quite honestly. (BTW, if I die when you're a minor, I hereby give you permission to drop the f-bomb whenever you want. You still might get in trouble at school, though.)

In an effort to leave you with some sort of farewell, rather than "Oh shit, Mom died in a freak paperclip accident," I'm going to write you some notes whenever the mood strikes. Enough people we love read the blog here to pass this on to you whenever it's appropriate. This way I'm assured that you'll find my words to you eventually. Unless, of course, we are all wiped out together in the Impending Zombie Apocalypse. (Just so you know, I had to spell "Apocalypse" about 5 times before I got it right.)

Braaaaaiiinnnnnnssssss.....

First, I should probably tell each of you that I'm sorry.

Birch, I am harder on you than I probably should be. I'm learning as we go along and I'm trying my damndest to be fair, give you credit where it is due, and leave you enough room to deal with the demons of your early childhood. I am sorry that I am so distant from you emotionally. I love you more than you can imagine. I'm just not so good at showing it. I am trying to do better about that. The distance has nothing to do with you and everything to do with my own demons that showed up before you were ever born. I love you and I'm proud of you for your strength, intelligence, and empathy.

HD, I have so many things to apologize to you for. I made so many mistakes when you were a toddler that haunt us still today. My downfalls prevented me from protecting you and keeping you close to me. My first instinct should have been to keep you safe, but I rationalized and bargained with common sense to convince myself that I was doing the right thing. I am sorry that your life is so difficult, that you are tormented by your father, and that you only get to be here for short period of time. Please know that I love you wholly and that I am working to bring you back home. I'm also sorry I threw the plate when you were 4 and you wouldn't eat. I was wrong. I know you remember it and I want you to know that there was nothing you could have done that deserved me scaring you like that. I was angry at the court system, angry at your father, angry at the Army, angry at myself, and it all came raging out at the wrong time. We have talked about this and you have forgiven me, but I haven't forgotten it and will always regret that action. I love you without end and I hope one day you can forgive all of my mistakes. I am proud of your intelligence and sweetness, even with the shit your dad and I have put you through.

Sprout: You are so much like me that we clash constantly. I love you so much, but I know that we have shared many angry moments. I am sorry that I am not more understanding with your insatiable need for control and independence. You would think that our similarities would be something to bond over, but instead we have some pretty epic clashes. I am the adult, I am the mommy, and I should be the one to avoid those battles. I am sorry for those times that I yell when I lose my patience. I love you so very much. My heart breaks repeatedly when I see your earnestness and how important everything is to you. I understand. Really, I do, and I'm sorry my actions don't always assure you of that. I love you and I am proud of your passion and your unstoppable will.

Crush: My little Boo Boy. I am sorry I don't give you enough individual attention. You seem so independent most of the time that I overlook your need for affection and interaction. I admire how you get right back up after falling down to try things again. You just grunt and keep on going. I often think I haven't given you as much as I gave the older kids, and I'm sorry. I try to remember to slow down and talk with you about things--colors, letters, animals, sounds, music, vehicles... I'm sorry I talk so much to other people and not you. I love you without fail. I am proud of your perseverance, strength, and determination.

Kiddos, I am absolutely certain I hurt you in ways I didn't list here. Please know that any pain I cause you is unintentional. Alas! I am human. I make mistakes and am often misguided and frequently don't find the right answer until way too late. Forgive me. Not for my sake, but for your own. Harboring grudges will only hurt you more.

One day, my darlings, you might seek answers to all sorts of questions (but mainly the answers to Life, the Universe, and Everything). There are lots of places to turn to figure all that out, but I implore you to just be quiet and listen. All of the answers are within your grasp at any moment, if you are open enough to accept them. You might find understanding from a book, but I recommend you find your own path before you follow one prescribed to you by anyone else. Truth, my dears, is self-evident. Anything crammed down your throat is most likely bullshit.

If you ever want to feel close to me, you can find me in the mountains near the rivers. You will hear me in a symphony of crickets. You will feel me in the resonant tones of acoustic instruments. You will find any wisdom I gained in the company of trees.

Don't let losing me--or losing anyone or anything else, for that matter--define your life. Loss is devastating and can become all-consuming. Allow yourselves to heal. Get together and share adult beverages (only if you're of age!) or chocolate and talk about all the ways I am fucked up and laugh at me and our memories and maybe, if you're so inclined, shed a tear or two. Then pick up and keep on going, kids. It'll be alright.

*This does not, in any way, mean that I intend to meet my fate in an untimely manner. I am neither sick nor suicidal, although I am quite accident-prone. I know a passal of children who have lost parents. There are things I want to tell my own kids, even if it has to be posthumously. Writing this particular installation may even make me a better parent today, before my meeting of any type of demise.