Hey Owen. Tonight as you were sleeping, I did my usual check and turned off your lights. I repositioned your half hanging frame back onto the bed, and I tucked you back in under a beloved tattered quilt. I laid down next to you. Actually, I laid on top of you, but you didn't budge. And I gently cried.
I cried because I knew you were the best gift God has ever given me, and I never understood that joy or love parents speak of until I had you. I cried because I never want you to think that you are a less of priority than my book, my work, or my blog. I cried because I knew I was guilty. Guilty of robbing you of precious time spent between a child and a mother. Guilty of making you think my work comes before you or that my crafts and hobbies are far more important than you. When you were little, you were my priority, and I placed very little before you. I savored every minute I got to spend with you. And then I started this blog, and good, no great, things started to happen. And then I got a publisher. And then you became even lower on my priority list. I cried because it was the truth. I cried because I was ashamed. I cried because I knew I would never get this year back. I missed out on many memories with you, my only child, because I had a loving group of women raise you this year. I feel awful that I blew away that precious time of watching you grow up. I don't want you to remember me as a busy mom. I admit, I have been selfish at times. I am sorry. Terribly sorry. I really got lost in what was important to me, and I will try harder to be a better mother to you. I miss you so much, even though you are here with me. I'm tired of saying I can't. I'm tired of deadlines, and I'm tired of teaching you that those things are more important than a relationship between a mother and child. Admittedly, some of that I cannot blame on work. The words "I can't" has almost become a trained response, and as time goes on, I find myself using the sentence more than I like. That is why I cried tonight. The last thing I want you to remember about me is "I can't. I'm busy."
I cried because I knew you were the best gift God has ever given me, and I never understood that joy or love parents speak of until I had you. I cried because I never want you to think that you are a less of priority than my book, my work, or my blog. I cried because I knew I was guilty. Guilty of robbing you of precious time spent between a child and a mother. Guilty of making you think my work comes before you or that my crafts and hobbies are far more important than you. When you were little, you were my priority, and I placed very little before you. I savored every minute I got to spend with you. And then I started this blog, and good, no great, things started to happen. And then I got a publisher. And then you became even lower on my priority list. I cried because it was the truth. I cried because I was ashamed. I cried because I knew I would never get this year back. I missed out on many memories with you, my only child, because I had a loving group of women raise you this year. I feel awful that I blew away that precious time of watching you grow up. I don't want you to remember me as a busy mom. I admit, I have been selfish at times. I am sorry. Terribly sorry. I really got lost in what was important to me, and I will try harder to be a better mother to you. I miss you so much, even though you are here with me. I'm tired of saying I can't. I'm tired of deadlines, and I'm tired of teaching you that those things are more important than a relationship between a mother and child. Admittedly, some of that I cannot blame on work. The words "I can't" has almost become a trained response, and as time goes on, I find myself using the sentence more than I like. That is why I cried tonight. The last thing I want you to remember about me is "I can't. I'm busy."