Today I had a moment of remembrance and wanted to write a letter to you so I’d never forget the joy, the promise, and the ache of our lives coming together.
One year ago I sat in church wearing a creme and green colored dress while worship commenced. In the middle of a worship song I put my head down and sobbed so deeply my chest shook. I didn’t think I would be ready or know how to deal with a life with two kids and convinced myself I didn’t need you guys. Even while Daddy tried asking me questions, I couldn’t answer him and resorted to shaking my head from side to side and whispering, I can’t do this. I just can’t do this.
That morning I met you, Daddy, and Ryen at Starbucks before church. You were making a mess with your glazed donut while demanding more milk. You cried out vehemently you hated church and didn’t want to go to Sunday school. Ryen fell off the leather chair when you pushed her and the entire store stared at us condescendingly. I looked at you in disbelief; how could a child could be so broken and ruthless—yet simultaneously innocent?
Worship music played. The congregation sang. I sat and sobbed. I had to break up with Daddy because I couldn’t see my life with you and Ryen in it.
Today I sat in church after checking you into Sunday school and kissing your cheek. Worship commenced and something felt vaguely familiar. I looked down and noticed the same creme and green dress I wore a year ago while worship commenced. In the middle of a worship song I put my head down and breathed deeply as I swallowed the lump in my throat.
Worship music played. The congregation sang. I sat and cried. But this time I grabbed Daddy’s hand and placed my head on his shoulder.
I straightened out my dress and laughed to myself because so much has changed in one year except for my wardrobe. You were the child who hated Sunday school a year ago. Now you remind me to pray before going to church, you recount the Sunday school lesson about Moses, and you tell me you love me while eating cookies after dinner.
We’ve made it one month together and I hope we can make it one more. And one more. And one more. I’m not your mommy, but I love you as if you were my own child. Please continue to remind me to pray, teach me new things, and tell me you love me. It reminds me that not only do you need me, but I’m learning that I need you.
Love,
Your Stepmom
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