Good People Bad Things

Dear Ethan,

Since the horrifying news of yesterday's tragedy, I've been thinking about how to talk about it with you. What do I tell you about a world where parents put their five-year-olds on the bus and then later get the news that those same little five-year-olds are now "bodies" at one of the worst mass murders in U.S. history? I honestly don't know.

As I hope you will someday learn, having a child means that you are no longer your top priority. From the moment I learned you would be a reality, I've done everything in my power to protect you. I've avoided sushi and soft cheese (food poisoning! listeria!), bought organic cotton sheets (toxins!), filtered your water (lead!), checked your Halloween candy (razor blades!), kept you away from peanuts (allergies!), refilled your Epipen prescriptions (anaphylaxis!), fitted you for mouth guards, pads, cups, helmets (injuries!) and background checked your sitters (pedophiles!).

And, yet, there have been some things that even with the most caring, involved (overprotective?) parenting that I have not been able to protect you from: my illness, divorce. Still, I try to mitigate the collateral damage: Let's find you a counselor! Let's get you books! Let's talk about your feelings!

Knowing my life might be shorter than most is something I think about a lot. And the first thing that comes to mind is you. I can deal with my own medical uncertainty - the fear, the pain, the loss of dreams, profession, security - but can you deal with the loss of your mom? That is the thing that keeps me up at night.

The thought of you not being here? No. I cannot. And I am knocking on wood furiously with all of my free appendages and making the sign of the cross as I type that sentence.

I want to know this: You are the best thing I have ever done. You are my most favorite person, my reason to keep going during moments when I feel like I cannot, my reason to choose carrots instead of french fries, my reason to pretend to smile, even when I've been crying.

During this sad weekend, I am going to focus on your gap-toothed smile, the dusting of freckles on your nose, those bangs that are two weeks overdue for a haircut. I am going to tell you I love you and make sure you hear me. I am going to really listen when you talk and be present.

And I am going to tell you that most people are good. That most people care about other people. That I cannot protect you from everything, even though I really truly wish I could, but that sometimes in life we need to be brave and try to live without fear, even when things get scary.

And then I will tell you that I love you one more time and that, yes, you can have ice cream before dinner.

Love,
Your Mommy