I have been trying to write a letter to Corbin.  One that he’ll read when he is older and perhaps be able to understand on some level.  And, the words don’t come.  How do I cut out my own heart and place it on the page?  There are so many words and no order to them; so many things to say and yet nothing comes out at all.  There is weeping, yet strength.  There is anger, yet peace.  There are the “if onlys,” but also the “at leasts.”  There are apologies where no known wrongs exist.  And, yet I still try to squeeze my heart out for an innocent pre schooler to see, to know, to understand.

Lessons of hope, commitment, loyalty, love, faith, strength, and goodness, placed in a box and wrapped with torn pieces of newspaper.  It’s not pretty, but it’s heavy.  These lessons are weighted in experience, played out in front of him like the Star Wars movies he loves to watch.  The lessons aren’t realized yet, but I visualize him years from now acknowledging the foundation, however crumbled it may seem now.

He is wearing a tuxedo or a cap and gown, speaking to a mass of people.  He is about to go off on his own journey.  He is entering a new chapter of life and yet, he stops to honor the lessons of his youth.  Thanks to his parents, his heroes, for teaching him that he can overcome adversity, to live life to the fullest, never give up, love without reason and root his faith very deep in rich soil.

I envision him in the last chapters of my days and he holds me as I hold him now; with his arms wrapped all around me, he keeps me safe.  He tells me that I can rest now and that I’ve done a good job.  Corbin is an excellent father and an even better husband who knows that with hope, faith and Love, nothing is impossible.

My son may throw toys at his friends and suffer timeouts now, but I believe he will be the kind of man that will throw life lines to his friends and suffer their burdens alongside them.  He will be loyal and faithful, full of integrity and goodness.  He will be kind and gentle, yet a pillar of strength.  Corbin will work hard and understand it’s value.  He will be tenderhearted and compassionate.  He will love with abandon and he will comfort those that hurt.  He will be his dad.

Danny speaks often about what life is supposed to look like, especially when it comes to the life we were supposed to give to Corbin.  It certainly isn’t what we’d hoped for or what we’d planned.  We are definitely on a detour that started with just 80ft. of a skid mark.

Kids are funny and resilient.  I think we have a much more difficult time adjusting to change than they do.  Although, Danny cannot actively be the able bodied father that he’d envisioned, he is exactly the father that Corbin needs.  The evidence of that is in the small things; “Daddy, will you come with me?” as I stand there too.  “Daddy, will you play Wii with me?”  “Daddy, I’ll help you” as Corbin pushes Danny to his room to play.  Or, the unexpected hugs or lean ins that Corbin gives out not knowing that Danny gets so overwhelmed by those gestures that he can’t help but cry.

It was a rough start to say the least, but we are what Corbin needs, not what we had expected of ourselves.  And, we can’t put those expectations on us because at this point, they are not relevant or even applicable.  Corbin is well taken care of and well loved, by his parents and the Lord they serve.  He is faithful in the dark, just as He is in the light.

Yes, my little boy is going to be alright.  And, if I never get that letter written just so, I will live out my days so that he may read my heart and know.

One thought on “An unwritten letter

  • January 28, 2010 at 4:16 pm

    I just want you to know that you inspire me to be a stronger wife, mother and woman. I read all of your blogs and keep updated and I’m completely amazed at your strength. My thoughts and prayers are with you always.

    Much Love,


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