Happy Mother's Day, My Son

I am applauding. A proud mom grin is on my face.

It is one of the most perfect moments in my life. My son is bowing on stage with the other actors. The audience is responding.

And I am applauding.

A person having known me prior to my son’s existence would not recognize me. This is no exaggeration. Even physically I bare little resemblance to that Heather.

That Heather was a size 3. That Heather had long, curly blonde hair. That Heather even seemed shorter. That Heather was physically beautiful but spiritually bereft.

There is a story there — a painful, sorrowful tale. I don’t like to tell it. It is not my story to tell. The story is hers and I often feel that it should be allowed to die with her, the strange creature I was. But it is important, I think, for you to hear some of it so you can understand where this Heather, where I, come from.

Imagine a beautiful little girl with large, clear blue eyes and hair so blonde it is white. Imagine her losing the only family that loved her, her father and his family, to divorce when she was only 6 years old. Imagine if you will the rest of her life: a life in chaos; a life lived in pain; a life without love. Her mother did not, could not, love her. And her stepfather? He said he loved her. So love became equated with violation and pain. Punches and unwanted touches. Words were weapons.

This was her life. And there was no escape for school was as bad as home. She could not run from the abuse. It always followed. She ran all the way to Guam and still it found her.

Yet, this time it was different. Something changed. She became pregnant. And that pregnancy gave her strength she never had. The child growing within meant more to her than her own life ever had. His birth was her rebirth. The phoenix consumed itself in flames to emerge brighter and more beautiful than before. That Heather was wheeled into the delivery room. With each push, she disappeared. And when the baby emerged, so emerged a new Heather.

We cried our first cries together. And when my child, my son, was laid on my chest, I felt a love so intense and fierce that I was nearly overwhelmed by it.

I am applauding.

Up there on that stage is my son — the single most important person in my life. Avery — the most amazing and wonderful being on this planet. You cannot tell me otherwise. No matter how plain and average I may be, he is extraordinary. And if giving him life is my only achievement, I have done well.

I know that I will never love anyone as much as I love him.

I know he didn’t save my life. He gave me a new one.

Happy Mother’s Day, my son.