Avory & Dominic,

When I began this project in my head, I never knew that it would really work. I still don’t know. I could write hundreds of letters to you, and you may never choose to read them. I’ll keep writing in hopes that they matter to you some day.

It’s Saturday, in late October. We’re all sitting at the counter together, and Daddy is sitting on the couch, watching Footloose. You’re showing each other videos about “put a finger down” challenges. Listening to your phones fucking kills me, but I push through the discomfort to keep space open for you guys to be who you are, authentic and messy and awkward. In the 14ish years I’ve been a mom, we’ve listened to a million songs, many of them a million times over. But this song is the one I love the most. It’s the one song all three of us would stop what we’re doing or talking about and sing together at the top of our lungs. For some reason, the most vivid memory is driving through Greenbelt in the summer. This song brings memories more with you guys than with my childhood. I’m sure I heard it a million times before I ever heard it with you, but I can’t tell you where, or with whom. 

I can tell you guys are growing out of this willingness to listen to my music, let alone sing along, and my heart is hurting. Like when I picked you up one day and then never again, or when your last baby fat roll behind you knee disappeared. I think this one hurts more because this is my love language, how I connect to the world, and it’s not cool to you anymore. I’m soaking up every opportunity I get to listen to my music with you, because I don’t have many years left to influence you. I’m going to go to sleep one night soon, and you’ll be entirely new humans.

I’ve actually begun the effort of being more present in the mornings, because it occurred to me one day that when I knock on your door in the morning, the person who opens it will have evolved overnight, and I’ll be meeting the newest version of you. I get to look at you and see the future a little more clearly, and I am never disappointed. I’m so excited to see who you become every day that I have left on this earth with you. 

Now that your grandmother has passed, I’ve had some time to think about the things I needed from her, stories and answers that I will never get. It’s made my motivation stronger. I want to make sure you know as much as I can stomach to tell you. I want you to read my words and feel my love, and know that you’re the only two humans on Earth who deserve to have answers from me. This doesn’t mean I’ll give you everything, I can’t offer that. There’s some details that should never be spoken or written. Those details don’t matter anyway, because they don’t assist in giving answers. They’re just details of abuse and assault, and I owe those details to no one. 

Someday, when you’re reading this, I pray that you can imagine this moment in your head. Not in it’s entirety, but in feeling. I hope you feel loved, secure, and safe. I never knew that feeling growing up, and it’s the feeling I desperately needed you to have. I hope you can see Halloween decor, smell the food your dad cooked, hear the music in the background, and have warmth and love smothering you. Fuck, I hope you feel that all the time, but especially now. Our lives are so blessed and wonderful! We are so happy right now. I hope it lasts forever, and you never know anything less. I also hope I get one last sing along. I love you my sweet babies. -Mommy

Summer 2018- When we lived in Greenbelt, and we have the Kia Sedona minivan. We had no AC, so we drove everywhere with the windows down. We had to crank the music to drown out the sound of the van’s broken muffler.