You are my love letter to life.
I wrote each strand of your DNA inside me, my heart singing: this is for the smell of pavement wet from fire hydrants in August, this is for the way the light comes through the windows in the late afternoon, turning everything gold, this is for the tiny buds of grape hyacinth and how they hang like little bells chiming forth spring, this is for the very first snow and the second and the third when everything is quiet quiet quiet all around and so light and so soft.
That is how I wrote your body into this world.
You are my ode to this existence. The meter of your arms and legs, the syntax of your spine – each vertebra another stanza in all that is beautiful and all that is true, connecting one to the next, one to the next, everything that makes us human.
If I didn’t love the way that my father cries when he watches sappy movies, or the way my sisters’ laughs create a harmony, or the feel of my mother’s hands and the way they look when they do their work, or the way your father stands with his arms akimbo when he pauses, mid-chore in the garden, and takes a quiet breath and looks all around him; if I didn’t love the feeling of sand under my feet or how when the tide runs over them it slips away like silk, or the way rain can make you feel new again, or the way wrinkles on old people make their eyes smile at you when their mouths do, or the way birds roll in clouds of dust and look like they’re dancing – if I didn’t love all this, I couldn’t have made you as I did.
I believe in the power of the moon and the beauty of the stars and the shine from the sun and the ground underfoot and the grass as it grows and the wind as it blows, but more than anything else, I believe in people: in the way they help each other, doing something for nothing, giving something when needed; in the way they love each other and how visible it is in their eyes; in the way they grieve and celebrate and succeed and survive.
Sometimes it is ugly. Sometimes it is hate and not love that makes itself known. Sometimes the pain is unimaginable and the sorrow seems unsurmountable. But then we imagine it and we surmount it and night comes and another day after that. And on, and on, until we are revived.
And that is why I wrote you like a love letter to the world.
You have the stars in your hair and the sun in your eyes and love in your bones and the planet is wild and spinning its circles around and around and you will dance on its spinning and make music with your feet and my life will be bigger, bigger, boundless in the space between your toes and the ground.
I already loved this life when I made you; I prayed while the sweet air washed over my body; thanked the world for existing; but something in me was born when I bore you. A love bigger than I knew before.
I wrote you like a love letter, but then you were received.
And your bearing was the universe’s response.
Your growing is the world singing back to me: I love you, too, I love you, too.
So sweetly, so tenderly, your being: proof that this grand and glorious world loves me back.