Month: January 2022

Dear daughter,

Please forgive me.

There’s a fire in you that I fear. 🔥

It’s similar to one that I once had.

Before they told me to turn it down.

Before they said the heat was too much, too bright, too wild.

Back when it roared and crackled and glowed from my amber eyes…

Before, one by one, they came with their buckets, filled with water… reducing that fire to the smoky embers of this adulthood that I now live.

Forgive my shortcomings, dear daughter.

When you were first born, I proudly announced:

“She’s mischievous and curious! There’s a twinkle in her eye!”

When you were a toddler, I proudly gloated:

“She marches to the beat of her own drum! She’s a real spitfire!”

• 

• 

• 

• 

When you were five, I caught you lost deep in thought and asked “What are you thinking about?”

Looking at me, our pupils locked in, you said, “There are kingdoms in my mind.”

I was floored.

And impressed.

And

I was scared.

Later that year, you graduated Kindergarten and danced down the aisle with your diploma.

“She’s a spicy one.” I posted on Facebook.

Then the years began to stack up on us. Both of us, daughter.

And naturally, your fire grew.

And you came home with stories…

Attempts made to dim your flame,

Requests that you just turn down the roar of it to a meer smolder.

And I grew more afraid of this attention.

“Maybe you can just contain it, daughter?”

“Maybe you just glow less while you’re in school?”

“Sit up straight. No elbows on the table.”

“Tell a teacher.”

“Stay out others’ business.”

“Don’t be a hero.”

“Fix your hair.”

“Smile more.”

“Be nice.”

And soon, I was the person in your life carrying not one, but two buckets of water. Frantic. Ready to extinguish the twinkling flame that I so proudly recognized the day you were born.

Forgive me, my girl. There is something in you that I could not handle myself.

And so I got scared.

Maya Angelou says. “When you know better, you do better.”

I know now, while you may carry a similar flame as I once did, you are more fierce than I ever was or ever will be.

And God chose you to handle this bright, wild power. And God chose me to support you through your discovery of it.

Not to protect you from it.

And certainly not to extinguish it.

(Or ask you just to glow on Saturdays)

Some parents helicopter their children externally. They follow them on the playground. They obsessively check their temperature. They safety proof every nook of their home.

We’ve been different. Haven’t we?

The two introverts. The empaths. The intuitive feelers with the sassy mouths and this damn refusal to accept anything but the best in people.

How do you safety proof a mind?

…You know better, you do better,

and I am here to say:

There is nothing wrong with wanting to own every atom of the power that you possess, and there’s nothing g wrong with asking the same of others, Queen Lydia. I accept all of the kingdoms in your mind. No more helicopter. No more dimming the glow. No more fear.

Last year, I told God: I’m letting go, so I can fly.

Today, I say the same to Him:

God, I’m letting go, so she can fly 🦅

I love you, my mischievous, curious, spitfire, twinkling, roaring, girl.

Thank you for all you’ve taught me.

Xo Mom

It’s a hard truth that a percentage of us know all too well.

We don’t live forever.

In fact, some don’t make it to parenthood, while others are lost far too soon while their children are still young. In my case, my late husband, Scott, passed away suddenly in a car accident at the age of 37. Our children were 2, 4, and 7 at the time.

None of us saw it coming.

Over the years, I’ve considered what’s been helpful for our three kids and what I wish he and I would’ve known.

Parents, you will not live forever, and if you die young, there are things your children will need. Again, its a hard truth, and I don’t want to be the one to talk about it… but it needs to be out there in a Google search somewhere for you to find; Maybe you’ve had a health scare recently, or you’ve been blindsided with the loss of someone close; and it’s got you thinking about mortality…maybe you’re just a preparer (like I am now), whatever brings you here…

Here are some suggestions from a widow who’s lived it…

1. Get Life Insurance: Maybe you think it’s just for people with money. Maybe you’d prefer to spend the money on the here and now. Been there. But life insurance is the greatest way to ensure your children and spouse are cared for in your absence. Scott and I did not have it for most of our marriage, then five days before he was killed, he told me that he took out a policy. I was quite immature back then and refused the conversation when he brought it up. He said: I know it’s uncomfortable, but if something happens, you and the kids will be ok. Sell the house and take care of the finances. (So take Scott’s advisement: get the life insurance and TALK about these things no matter the discomfort they give) … which leads me to number two…

2. Start a Will: Again, some may think that this is something for people with money, right? Nah.

Take for instance:

Do you own a home? Ok. Who’s going to get that? I am only familiar with my home state of Michigan, so check your local laws, but in Michigan, without a will and if there’s not another name on the house, it will go into probate, which means the state basically takes management of the property until it’s decided that there’s a competent executor of the deceased estate. Believe me, as a widow and recovering realtor, this is not a fun process; And considering that your loved ones will be grieving, they may not have the energy to pursue a home in probate… losing the asset all together. This is only one example of why.

Things just happen.

Start a will.

3. Write a love letter. Write it now, add to it later if you need to. Write multiple over time if you wish, but one thing I cannot tell you enough:

Write a letter to your children.

Tell them what makes them special. Why they make you smile. How you felt upon first seeing them, and what you hope for them. Give them all the life advice that comes to you. As my children grow into their formative years, this is a huge desire of there’s. I cannot tell you how many of their tears I’ve dried over the absence of his fatherly advice. Please do so.

3b. Record your voice. Hey… while feeling the ink on paper and seeing your handwriting and the labor of love is it’s own experience for your children, if writing is not your thing, try sound recording your words. We only have a few voicemails of Scott’s and a few videos, but they’re precious. Could you imagine if he’d recorded himself talking to the kids and his advice and the other items above? Invaluable.

4. Get in the photos. We see blogs about this all of the time. Moms not in photos because they’re the ones taking them. Dads have this issue too. When you die, all the photos taken up to the point are it. The desire for “more” never ends for your loved ones, so do it. Cooking dinner, cheering in the living room at Sunday night of football, ordinary stuff. Don’t be shy. Take the pictures and ask your spouse to take them too.

5. One HUGE way my children feel connected to their father is through music. Make some playlists. It’s so simple, but for my son Jaxson, who has no true memories of his dad, he LOVES listening to his dad’s favorite bands and artists and shares a lot of similar interests.

6. Work/Life balance. You may not want to hear this. You may notice it already, as your kids grow… that they’re only young once and us missing things, overworking ourselves or not being present when we are home… means we are not creating the memories that they cling to when we’re gone. Working hard is a great example, but being there to create the memory is what it’s all for. I’m not suggesting you quit your job. I’m only saying: Make the time.

And while you’re at it, take a picture and record it in your letter 🙂

You are, after all, leaving a legacy in them. 🌱

Remember, life is hard whether we live it or not, might as well live.

Big love, Meg