To the woman who birthed my children
To the woman who birthed my children I didn’t know you while you walked this earth. I don’t have memories of you or with you. I don’t have a knowledge of how your voice sounded—how you smelled— or how you laughed. I don’t have memories of you to share at all. But, what I do share with you is a love of your—my—our children. In fact, the only version I know of you is through the stories of memories from your children. Isn’t that the best way to be remembered? I know that you prayed for me. While you were fighting for your life, you were praying for me. Maybe not by name, but specifically for the new momma your children would have. It’s hard for me to fathom the strength you had to do that, when I look into the eyes of the child I did carry. When I look into her eyes, I can’t imagine the resolve you had within yourself that you wouldn’t see Gracee and Titus grow up. Oh, the faith you had to believe He would take care of your babies. I often wonder, if God ga