Hey All!

The challenge for this contest was to write a letter your child/children or future child/children. All the letters are amazing. Check them out and vote for your favorite.

Judges will select a winner, who will win a $250 prize. Also, we will have a bonus prize of $100 for whoever receives the most votes. Member votes count five times as much as non-member votes.

Voting ends  December 1, 11:59pm Eastern Time. 

We will announced our winners December 3rd! 

Good luck!!!

Check out our latest contests here

To the beautiful ray of light that beamed through the windows of my hollow heart, in my darkest times. I never thought that I could need you more than you needed me. Before you were born, your dad and I were preparing ourselves for your arrival. We moved into a bigger home, I was nesting, we received many gifts from our family, your parents were reading a lot about your growth and grasping an idea of what having a newborn in our lives could possibly mean. Right before you arrived, the home we had just moved into was being taken away by the very same person who let us in. The landlord of where we were rented and had just moved in two months prior to your birthday, was making sure we lived uncomfortably. Before we could move, you were here and we already had spent so much money, to just leave it all behind. As we were just coping with our external and internal fears, we were just getting the hang of a routine and lacking sleep through it all; I was trying to recover physically and mentally with the changes that were happening simultaneously and still, we were forced to leave with you, in our arms. Mommy was a journalist, she worked in news, Daddy operates cameras and we were in the same field, meaning that the hours were all intertwined, our lives were fast-paced and I couldn’t be who I used to be now that I was different. I tried to incorporate myself into society as casually as possible, in the meanwhile, we were dealing with medical bills, packing our recently unpacked bags, managing our newfound relationship as parents, learning the day-by-day function of feeding you, bathing you, putting you to sleep and helping you learn new things as you transcended through your milestones.

One evening, I arrived home, I got to see your beautiful face after a long day of work and I went to our room to pack some shoes into another box, that was underneath our bed. I collapsed, my body was still, I couldn’t ask for help. Your daddy came into the room, wondering why everything had suddenly become silent and as I laid on the floor, he said: “if you’re tired, go lay on the bed”; I was stuck. When I tried to move my lips to get the words out: “I had fallen unexpectedly”, I couldn’t speak. The words that came out were slurred and my eyes were unstable and I was paralyzed. Daddy, while holding you tight in his arms, called 911, and was checking my vitals. The ambulance came for me and the doctors said I needed to follow up with a neurologist because it seems that my brain may have been reacting to the highly stressful environment we were undergoing. This was not the first and last time I was at the hospital that year. I spent the majority of your starting life, recovering with you. Between moving from house to house, to sleeping in family’s living rooms, to you sleeping in a bassinet instead of your crib that was gifted to you because of limited space, to feeling degraded for asking for help, to feeling depressed because it was not the life, we imagined to give you, just a few weeks before. I was out of work all that time during recovery and so when I had finally returned from medical leave, I couldn’t stop feeling how I felt that same day I collapsed. So, I left my career and I was lost for a little bit more, but I knew that I needed to take the risk on myself, to find reward.

Then, I found myself through your eyes. I forgave myself and became more gracious with me. I started to learn how to be patient with myself. I learned how to love myself a little more by taking care of my physical and mental health. I realized I depended much on other’s acceptance of me and not my own. I started to set up my own standards, what I defined as happiness and built myself from the dirt, up. I started to slow down and smell the roses. I started visualizing the life I wanted and slowly but surely it started to manifest. All the while, I thought home meant a house, but you taught me, home was us. It is the light you brought into our lives that moved mountains for us, brought expansion, happiness, self-acceptance and pure love. Even through our darkest moments, you taught us that we must love who we are, what we have and abundance will come, discretely and unexpectedly. It is you who taught us that no matter what we go through, we are glorious in who we are and can do anything we set our minds to. I left behind an old and outdated mentality. I removed the circumstances that no longer brought purpose or joy. I appreciated the mornings, the evenings, the minutes in between, to the fullest, now that I knew how simplicity can bring fulfillment. I am only relaying the lessons you’ve taught me my dear, for you taught me to love me, in all of my phases, in all of my shapes, feeling blessed with little on our plates, with a simple roof over our heads and a pillow to sleep on. It’s contemporaneous what we lived in your first year of life. We lost so much yet gained plentifulness. So, love yourself in all your stages, appreciate the little or lot that you have, be honest with yourself and make yourself proud, not anyone else. You need to learn how to be grounded, so that you can rise. Don’t let the bad times define you, they’re temporary. Always be humble, always be grateful, always love yourself and love will find you every day. Thank you for being our sun, our new day and our new beginning, the beaming light of our life.

CLICK HERE TO WRITE ME BACK

To my dearest daughter, Jade,

I want to tell you the story of how your arrival into this world was the greatest surprise our friends and family have ever known. But before I share that story, I have to explain how we got here.

When Daddy and I built our house, it was an exhausting, tiresome, emotionally draining process, and we shared our excitement with practically everyone in our lives. Someone once told us that buying a house is a test of your sanity, and that building one was even worse. It goes without saying, that they were right. We searched properties for years, continuously inspecting parcels of land, always getting our hopes up that we had found the place for our “forever” to take place, for each and every one to fall through for one reason or another. Finally, after five years of searching, we purchased the 12-acre piece of heaven that we now call home. But physically building the house was just as difficult as acquiring the land to build it on. Some days it seemed like every step was delayed, every desire was miscommunicated, and every task seemed inherently more difficult than it should have been. And without fail, almost every day following a particularly upsetting set-back, I would walk into work, or bump into a friend in a store, and they would innocently, and with the best of intentions, ask, “Hey, how’s the house coming?” Nothing knocked the wind out of me quite like that question some days. Sometimes I would answer while fighting off tears, or respond with the ever-so-phony “Oh, pretty good,” all while wishing I had never told anyone we had even considered building a house. The stress of construction really took a toll on me, which was only compounded by others’ knowledge of our struggle, and I swore that we would never be so open with our life’s plans again.

Fast-forward a whole year of living in our fantastic new home, we found out I was pregnant with you, my girl. Daddy and I were ready to begin our journey as parents, but not ready to share our excitement with anyone except each other just yet. We knew we would tell our friends and family at some point, but we were both still unsure how we felt about sharing such important and exciting news. Shortly before the end of my first trimester, the typical “safe” threshold when expectant parents share that a baby is on the way, we learned the devastating news that our friends, who were also about to give birth to their first child, had lost their beautiful baby girl at 34-weeks pregnant. We were shocked for them. We were heartbroken for them. We cried for them. As they informed their loved ones of their tremendous loss, we could not fathom the pain they were enduring, and any plans we had about protecting our peace and happiness about our baby girl, were solidified in that moment.

So, we decided to wait. We agreed to keep our joy just between us, until I couldn’t hide my growing belly any longer. We went through life as normal, waiting for the day when my clothes became too tight and my pregnant “glow” shone too brightly to be ignored. Except, here’s the wild part: For reasons I have yet to understand, that never happened. With each passing week, I would look in the mirror and be amazed that I still looked like my normal self. Some pairs of jeans were too tight, and I gained a small amount of weight, but that’s it, which my doctors reassured me was healthy and acceptable. I continued to look like my normal self until almost nine months pregnant. With the Coronavirus pandemic at its height, family holiday gatherings were postponed, so I was never in a situation where someone would be suspicious that I wasn’t enjoying my wine as I might normally be. We often say we experienced the “perfect storm” of scenarios where we could keep our girl a secret for so long.
We told a small group of people around eight and a half months pregnant, including our closest friends and family and, of course, your grandparents. (Don’t worry, we have Nana, Grandpa, Grammy & Papa’s reactions on video so we can celebrate that shocking moment forever!) I learned so much through this one-in-a-million experience. I learned what it truly feels like to put my own needs first. I learned what it means to protect someone, even though you weren’t here yet. I learned that my peace was far more valuable to me than I could have ever imagined. After you were born, we sent photos and surprise messages to the rest of our friends and extended family, and damn-near broke the internet with our first photos of you. Sharing our first moments as a family of three, after you had safely arrived into this world, became one of the greatest joys of my life.

We had a big party after you were born, and all of our friends came to meet you. This party was so important to me because I never wanted you to grow up thinking we chose not to celebrate you. We celebrated you in the quiet rejoice of healthy ultrasounds and doctor appointments with perfect heartbeat scans. We celebrated you with shopping carts filled with tiny pink clothes, since a baby girl is what Daddy and I both hoped for. We celebrated you with the surprise-of-a-lifetime announcement to your grandparents that you were coming in less than six weeks. We celebrated you by growing you in calmness, serenity, and peace, which was healthiest for me, meaning it as also healthiest for you.

You were the biggest, and teeniest, surprise of our lives, my girl. And, oh my, do we loudly celebrate you now.

I love you, Jade Vail.

CLICK HERE TO WRITE ME BACK

With all the love in my heart,

To my future children,

Although I haven’t met you yet, I want you to know that I love you. With every fiber of my being, I feel a love coursing through my veins that only belongs to you. I dream of the day that you’re in my life, and I am brought to tears when I realize that moment won’t be happening any time soon.

I am still living at home with my parents, and their word is law. My parents, your grandparents, are hard people. The things that they’ve been through have shaped them in ways that I could never understand, and it’s shaped the way they parented me. I know they love me, and I love them, but their love was never easy. I’ve tried over the years to fit into the mold of “perfect daughter” and I very rarely was able to. However, I’ve come to realize that I can’t live a life pursuing a dream that isn’t mine. I see why my parents raised me the way they did, I see where they lost their way. I know that the only way I can help them is by starting my own path. 

I hope they are good grandparents to you. If my father is still around. I know he will be a great grandfather. I don’t know how my mother will be, but I know she will love you. I want so badly for them to be better because I want them in my life, and in yours. Because when my mother laughs, truly laughs, the whole room lights up. Her voice is as easy as Sunday morning, and it travels from your ears to your heart. With her around, you’ll never frown. You’ll have the best adventures, and you will learn to laugh at anything. My dad’s hugs are comforting and loving. He will teach you to love hugs, just like he did me, and his father before him. He is dependable, and hearty, and you will love every minute with him. I have memories of my grandparents, and even though they weren’t the best parents, they made up for it in their older years. They loved me, and every memory of them is a cherished one. 

So, instead of being angry with my parents for the “what ifs” and “what could’ve been” I will take note. Taking with me what they did right, and leaving behind what didn’t work. I will continue living for the life I want for myself, and although I’m living through one of the most difficult moments of my life, I will continue to look forward to life.

When I think of you, my future son(s) or daughter(s), I think of you through all stages of life. As an infant, when you’re still reliant on your parents constant attention and care. Then as a toddler. The time where you first begin to explore the world outside of yourself. You’ll test boundaries, and patience, but you’ll learn so much. Then as a child, a teenager, an adult. Your life will be yours to live through, and I can help guide you, but I know you won’t always listen. My advice to you, listen to me every once in a while. I know I talk a lot, but some of the things I have to say are useful. 

I know you will be beautiful, and I hope you will be kind. But really I just want you to be yourself. I want you to express yourself, to be free of influence, and follow your dreams. Such bold, sweeping, statements, but it’s true. I will always be there to support you, but your life is yours, and I dream of what you will do with it. I dream of the things you will say, the laughs you will have, the time you will spend with others, and the time you spend alone. I dream of your hobbies and quirks, your daily routines and your bad habits. I dream of the friends you will make, and the family you will have. 

I also dream of the mother I will be to you. The mother that kisses boo-boo’s and sings lullabies. The mother that scolds you when you hurt bugs, and the mother that dances wherever she feels like it. I’m sure there will be times where you’re embarrassed of me, but I hope that I will teach you to never be embarrassed for being yourself. I will be a mother of care and concern, and also a mother that fosters independence and self-reliance. I promise to support you and love you. I promise to encourage your curiosities, and nurture your personality. I promise to protect you from what I can, and prepare you for what I cannot. 

I love my parents, and I know they want what is best for me, but I never really knew who I was. Most of my decisions were made based on what I thought my parents wanted. My favorite color was purple, because it was my dad’s favorite color. I wore the same pair of baggy jeans for a year, because my mom told me she liked them. I disliked Xbox games, because my dad disliked them. And when my mother grew a distaste for fruit, so did I. It wasn’t until I was 19 that I met a dear friend of mine. She helped me find myself outside of my parents.

For the first time, I knew what my favorite color was: green. I knew what hobbies I liked, and I pursued them. I had a job I was happy with, even though my parents didn’t approve, but it didn’t matter to me. I bought myself fruit for the first time in years, and I ate as much as I wanted. I took baths with salt and oils in them. I splurged on what I wanted, treated myself to things I liked, and I was happy. For the first time I saw how life was meant to be lived. I decided then, that I would never go back to the way it was before. I want my parents to enjoy life like that too, but they’re set in their ways. I grieve for them, but it’s not my place to fix it for them. They are the only people capable of that.

Not all good things last forever. And I won’t lie, it’s hard to see the bright side while living through the darkness. Although I told myself I would never go back to how things were, some habits are harder to kick than others. But then I experience something. A moment between blurred monotony. Like when I step outside, and the sun warms my cold skin. Or when the passing of the seasons becomes imminent in fallen leaves and chilly mornings. Or when the stars at night are the same as they were the night before, but they’re still just as exciting. Whatever it is, it’s a glimpse into what is still there, of what I can achieve. I can see a life ahead of me, even if I have no idea how I will get it, I know I can, and because I can, I will. 

I will do everything in my power to protect you from unnecessary pain, but your life won’t be easy. If it were easy there would be no point. We are human, and therefore there will be challenges, but I hope to equip you with the tools to help you overcome them. That is my responsibility to you, my child, my children, that is the purpose of this love. Be happy, dance, hold your friends, and love animals. Laugh when you fall, and cry when you’re happy. Experience life, experience emotions, and appreciate what you have. 

CLICK HERE TO WRITE ME BACK

Sincerely,

I was hanging out with a good friend of mine the other day, and she asked me something that got me thinking. She said to me: “I’ve noticed the last couple times we hung out that you talk about the future and having kids, is that something you think about a lot?” I sat there for a minute reflecting, and then I responded; I explained to her that I do think about it in the aspect of knowing the person I want to be when I am a mother, as well as the steps I need to take in the meantime before family planning starts. She took in my response and then took the question a bit further by asking if I think I am doing everything I do now for my future children, or if I am doing all of this for myself. Quickly sifting through the thoughts as they rushed in, I realized it may seem like I am living my life for a future that could not even happen (I mean, life doesn’t always go as planned). After a short pause and a breath, I stated that I honestly feel like I am doing this for all of us. I let her know that I am working on being the parent that I wanted as a child, and there are things I know I want to do for my child(ren) that requires my current dedication to my wellbeing, both physically and mentally. I also mentioned that I would be upset if the time came to start a family and I looked back at the past couple years and didn’t see any progress towards my goals. In that regard, I like to keep that on my mind as it keeps me focused on my intentions and values.

For the past several years, I have been working on my mental health and regulating my emotions. For years I suffered with anxiety; I constantly worried about the worst-case scenarios in every part of my life, I’d often have angry outbursts that were followed by uncontrollable sobbing, and I felt like I had no control over any of my thoughts or feelings. All of this left me with a feeling of hatred toward my brain, and therefore my entire self. I would find myself “people-pleasing,” because I never wanted to let anyone down or feel like a bad friend. Behind the constant saying “yes” when I meant really meant “no,” and over-extending myself to the point of burnout, deep down I did all of these things because I just felt horrible about myself and I didn’t want anyone to see me the way I saw myself. Fortunately, with the help of my therapist and your father (he’s truly the best, I know you’ll love him so much), I have since come to realize that I am not the awful person that my anxiety tricked me into thinking I was, and I am finally learning to love every part of me, including the parts of me that I once despised.

As I have been on this journey, I have been learning about psychology and how certain events or situations can impact a young child’s brain. I have been learning about how humans coregulate with other people around them, and how important that is when a young child is growing up. I know that if I were to have had you a few years ago, in the midst of my worst anxiety attacks and self-loathing patterns, that would not have been the healthiest environment for you to be in during your early days. As I continue to work on my patience and learning about my mind, oftentimes I about you and your future. I think about you having a calm, content mother who happily lulls you to sleep and is there to comfort you in times when you feel distressed. I think about you witnessing your parents emulating the true meaning of love, and also feeling that same incredible love from us. I think about how I want you to be curious and ask questions and be confident in who you are, even in times when peers or others around you may try to influence you. I think about how there are times where you may not like me so much or I may fail you in some ways, but that I hope as an adult you will be able to understand that I am doing my best and still learning as a human being. So yes, I do think about you a lot, and I do what I do every day for you. There is a well-known quote that reads: “You can’t pour from an empty cup,” so I make an effort every day to make sure I fill my own cup first, so in the future, I can fill yours.

To my future child(ren), I love you already.

CLICK HERE TO WRITE ME BACK

To my unborn child,

The first love I ever knew, and first pain I was introduced to, was my mother’s. And if you ever get the chance to come through me into this world, I’ll be yours too.

Because you’ll have grown inside my womb, where you’ll have eaten what I ate and felt all that I feel. And all of my patterns, whether I want them or not, will become somatically inscribed into your genetic coding. So that even after the umbilical cord is cut, we’ll still be connected.

Even now, strangely, I feel we are connected in spirit.

Because even now, my body carries the egg that might one day become you.

Stranger still, my mom once carried us in her womb. She carried the egg that became me while she was still inside of her mother.

Though you aren’t born or even conceived, when and if you were to be, I’ll want you to know that mother is a spirit. And sometimes, a mother in her human form, for whatever reason, can’t or doesn’t always know how to embody the mother spirit. So we may, at different times in our lives, find a mother in another — person, place, or even within our own selves. Know too, that Mother Earth is all around you.

I want to be the best mother I can be, but I am scared, so I write to you in my journal.

Because one day, I might be gone, and I’ll want you to know that even then, you can always find a mother inside and step into her when you need to. You can never be without me because I am her, and she is in you.

I understand that it isn’t my responsibility to shield you from the wears and tears of life, but I do feel like it is my duty to prepare you for them as best as I can. So if any C-PTSD or abandonment wounds show up for you, here’s what you need to know.

My mom, who is your grandmother, was abandoned from the time she was a baby until she was six years old. She was raised by her aunts in a rural village in Thailand, and was breastfed by her grandmother. For the longest time, she referred to herself as “the girl with no mother.”

Upon returning to her homeland with her in 2015, I watched as those aunts that once fed and bathed her, remembered and embraced her with open arms and tear-stained cheeks. And then I knew, for the first time in my life, that she had been loved after all. Maybe not very well by the one woman who should have loved her most, nor by the man she chose to marry, but at least, well enough by those women. Enough, anyway, that she was able to love me well enough to want to gift that same love to you (with my own spin on it, of course).

But my mom, for a long time, had been disconnected from her roots, and that disconnectedness manifested physically in 2020 as colorectal cancer. Located at her root chakra, her emotions, past traumas, and hurts that were never addressed or processed rose to the surface, demanding her attention. Because the body remembers, even when the mind forgets. All this, I want you to know too.

For the last few years, I’ve been rewriting my mother’s narrative from “the girl with no mother” to “the girl with many mothers.” And I’ve noticed that as one of us heals, so does the other, and I’m hoping that it continues down the line.

In rewriting the stories she had always told herself, my siblings, and I while we were growing up, I realized that I too, could rewrite my own stories at any point in time. I didn’t need or want to abandon myself in order to be loved anymore, nor do I choose to surround myself with people who self-abandon or that emotionally abandon me.

And this lesson I’m re-learning every single day, in every relationship, including the one with myself.

If I could tell you one thing, it’d be this — I want you to choose you.

Choose you, when given the choice to wrestle someone out of their own karmic entrapment. Set yourself free and potentially inspire them to do the same.

Choose you, when faced with the dilemma of making sacrifices. Distinguish between the two by observing that offerings are given freely while sacrifices tend to be bargains in disguise, that in time, lead to resentment if the return on investment fails to arrive.

Choose you, when this world or any force within it tries to silence your voice. Your voice is powerful and each time you roar, you do so for you, for me, for your grandmother, and all others who came before.

Choose you, when your intuition guides you to your calling. If you don’t answer, it will keep ringing until you do. Any good karma I’ve been generating, I hope will be passed onto you.

Because everytime you choose to honor your truth, you become empowered. And the love that ripples from the changes you consciously make within your being, slowly but surely heals the fabric of our collective humanity’s consciousness. When you come into this world, you will have inherited ancestral gifts too, not only traumas. And if you let them, those gifts can become a reservoir of innate strength.

Choose you — because it is your life to live, and no one else can die for you.

As I write these words, I’m writing them to me too.

That might be the strangest thing about becoming an adult, let alone a parent. As soon as you think you’re ready to teach, you realize that you never stop learning.

Most of all, know that I love you always. And one day, if I’m ever ready, when the time is right, I’ll be honored to meet you.

CLICK HERE TO WRITE ME BACK

Love,

I spent most of my years in high school fretting about my public image. I always had a constant worry of whether I fit in and how people perceived me. I believed I needed to be a certain way to be a certain way to be apart of the community. I was young and impressionable, and there wasn’t a person who could convince me to be myself.

The thought of people knowing who I truly was was a terrifying thought to me, so I hid. I hid for nearly four years from the people closest to me for my own personal gain. If no one knew, I didn’t have to burden anyone with the knowledge that weighed down on myself.

One summer before my sophmore year, I was walking to a baseball game with a childhood friend. Something she said stuck with me that day, and I’ll never be able to shake it. “He [our classmate] is gay! I don’t have a problem with him being gay, but it’s a little weird.”

That may not be the exact thing I was told by her, but it sure did stick around for a while. What was weird about being gay? Because of that one conversation, I refused to tell anyone about myself for another few months. I didn’t want people to think I was weird.

I became more ashamed of myself than I ever was. I was embarrassed by my interest in women, and I was unsure how to cope with that. I felt disgusting and unwanted. All because of one persons comment.

So, until halfway into sophmore, I kept the fact I was lesbian inside. I was in a deep depression at that point, and hiding that was only weighing on me more. I felt a little obligated to tell everyone about my sexuality. Little did I know, coming out was one of the most freeing things I’ve ever done.

I became seen, noticed, appreciated. For once in my life I felt like I was known. I started to reach from my comfort zone to try knew things and meet new people. It’s funny to think that all I needed to do to become more confident was to tell everyone what was arguably my biggest secret.

So, future children, I’m sharing this self discovery of mine not to scare you, no. I’m not trying to receive pity from you. This is a life lesson. You are an incredible person. Your self identity does not define your self worth or your worth in life. Your self identity is the biggest part about you. I, as your mother, will always be your biggest supporter and friend. My future wife, whoever may be, will be just as big of a supporter as I am.

I hope that this personal detail of mine will help you in your own future discovery, Your journey is unique to yourself, though there are others that may share the same theme. All that you may need is a small push.

CLICK HERE TO WRITE ME BACK

Dear future cinephile, the child born into the next generation,

Hey, there, kid. You do not know me, nor will we cross paths, at least, not for a long time. However, I do know you. You are the chosen one, the child who will bring kindness and good fortune to those around you, who will be kind to the old people in grocery stores and pick up the soup for them on the high shelves as you stand on your tiptoes, your half centimeter shortness in height the only barrier between you two, preventing you from making sure that grandma gets her eight cans of tomato basil to nourish her for the week. You will persevere, perspire, and keep your balance steady as you bring yourself to the correct measurement to obtain that soup. Justice for grandma’s tummy! 

Okay, maybe that was a little dramatic. I tend to behave like a kid. 

Look at me, writing “Justice for grandma’s tummy” at 23 years of age. Grow up, Meghan! Jeez. 

You might think I sound like the grandma who needs the soup from my tangent, but you must know that I have always been a grandma – or, a grandpa, for that matter. 

You see, my grandpa was a cinephile of sorts. Basically, that means that he really liked movies. But he liked movies in a different way than most people. My grandpa and my grandma gave birth to four children, my father, my aunt, and my two uncles. They were all under the care of my grandparents, and all have different types of personalities, yet all come from the same couple. What brought my father, his siblings and my grandpa together were their visits to the local movie theatre. Basically, my grandpa took my father and his siblings to the movies when he wanted to bond with them. They would see whatever new movie was playing and would be cooped up in tiny seats next to one another, watching the screen with wide eyes in the dimly lit space. You see, movies were a way for families to come together and see something new, cool, and at times, innovative. My grandpa did not have the technology and ability to watch films in theatres when he was a kid, so he made it his personal mission to take his children to see them in person. 

My grandpa, my father, and his siblings lived in India, and because of this, the theatres operate in a different way than in the United States. Films that were played in India had intermissions, just like how they do in modern Broadway plays, productions, and musicals. When this would happen, my grandpa would be the first one out of the theatre, cash in hand, ready to pick up the first, fresh batch of popcorn and concessions the theatre had to offer. It was at that moment my father and his siblings would reconvene with my grandpa and grandma in the lobby, munching on snacks and discussing a bit about the film they were watching, their eyes still glowing with excitement from the imagery displayed on the screen. 

Flash forward thirty (30+) years later, and my father is in his mid-40s, taking my sister, mother, and I to the theatres for movie nights. We always bought food and drinks before the movie started, as there were no intermissions during the films in the United States, and there still aren’t. This left little room for us to bond about the film halfway through and had forced us to determine if the middle of the movie had past or not. Regardless, after the film had finished, I would be racing to the car, bursting with thoughts on the film, ready to tell my father everything I thought about the film. He did not care as much about my opinion, which is something I did not realize until much later in my life and made me very sad. However, I then discovered that he did the same with my grandpa, and my father felt sad when my grandpa did not pay attention to him. 

I NEVER want that to happen to you, love. I want you to have fun with your family, to watch every movie that you want to see, to eat all the popcorn, tell your parents all your theories on who the villain was, and why grandma needs her tomato basil soup!!

In all seriousness, I know I do not know you, and you do not know me, but I need you to know that I love you. You ARE the chosen one, though. The first of many movie clichés that will riddle your existence and provide you the ability to understand complex subject matter around you in the form of moving pictures. You may not be a boy, but you are my Harry Potter, my Luke Skywalker, and my best friend. The fact that you are here, and reading this letter, is good enough for me. Go out there and do some good, kid. It’s your destiny.

Okay, no more clichés. Scout’s honor. 

Thank you, my love. 

CLICK HERE TO WRITE ME BACK

“Greetings and thank you for boarding flight “1 Life to Flight”
I am your pilot, and we will be traveling non-stop to beautiful Peaceland.”

Son,

Something cool about Mommy you probably didn’t know is, Mommy’s a pilot.
Metaphorically.

I take on uncharted and sometimes unfamiliar territories of life with only the whimsical buildup of experimental confidence.
Hazy vision accompanied with anxious jolly demeanor, I want to fully enjoy riding the wave of life, steering deep into the abyss of the destination hoping for safe travels each time.

Each day I gear up and get prepared for smooth flights and careful landing, even though turbulence looms over quite a few trips.

I worry greatly if the passengers aboard will have enough connection to me. I don’t want the distance between the aisle and the cockpit to determine the connection. I want to get a great feel for everyone and see the smiles, the undeniable happiness of floating away to places where the sun kisses you in the morning to a frosty mountain top at night.
I often wonder will I be able to provide peace upon boarding? Can they look at me and tell my fear is great, or have rest assured we’ll all land safe.
Oh, and Son, I like to provide awesome snacks, even on days when I can’t eat. Mentally.
Mentally.
A word that has plastered itself to my name. Every day before flight Mentally and I take a brisk jog. We discuss what we learned from the last trip and areas of improvement for the upcoming one. Mentally is a friend of mine. Sometimes we have the best of times and ends in great laughter other times, mentally has me too wound up and I must go “AP” promptly.

“Auto pilot”, I really try to avoid that feature of self. I desire to live and thrive in the reality of the ride. Not be consumed by the unsteady control switch. I intend to be hands on and alert throughout entire flight. Not matter how long it takes to get through TSA, baggage claim and settling in for overnight stays in new cities.

Son, the tears you’ve seen Mommy cry are not always sad ones. There are tears of happiness, constant wars within self, proud flag planted triumphs, tears of peaceful surrender and tears of absolute joy watching you grow. I’m so incredibly thankful that I am a “pilot”.
My mental health equips me with a life jacket awareness and ultra “fight or flight” responses. I am working hard to make sure it’s a great snug fit.

I want you to know with each day, I will always give a grand effort to earn as many frequent flyer miles as possible, smile more and worry less and be positively ever changing.
Mommy is proud to suit up and land safely in the world of life. No matter the distance
I thank you for being air crafted and designed just for me and being the best copilot thus far.

CLICK HERE TO WRITE ME BACK

Signing off,