I've been meaning to copy, word for word, text from an Erma Bombeck book for months...(please note that I'll be using quotes for the entire text and so therefore am not plagerizing!). I read her book "Motherhood: The Second Oldest Profession" out of desperation on a visit to my in-laws one time...I just needed something to read before bed one night. One vignette really stuck with me. It had been a few years since I'd read it but then when I found out I was having a third boy it occurred to me to find the book and re-read the vignette closely - as it really stood out to me as special, and very sweet. I had to guess on the book's title and order it from Amazon, and then, when I got it, had to read the entire book to find the hidden gem. But I found it, I've read it multiple times, and now I'll share it with you. Please note that obviously this was written multiple years/at least a generation or two ago....but I just can't change it as it's too perfect as it is. So without further ado, Erma Bombeck's "Motherhood: The Second Oldest Profession": portion of vignette entitled "Julie":
(to set the scene, three sons have gathered for their mother's funeral. I know, morbid. She's left them all individual, private letters as she knew she was dying....forgive me, sometimes I'm a little freaky about life/death and what it all means, etc. So the letters begin to the oldest son to the youngest..."
"Dearest Chuck: Since this letter is for no one's eyes but yours, I can tell you that I always loved you best.
Maybe it was because you were the first miracle to stir inside me. The first hint of my immortality.
You were a part of the lean years for your father and me...the part that brought laughter to poverty, warmth to cold, success to failures.
You were the original model. There would be others who would come after you who might blow bigger air bubbles, burp louder, talk earlier, walk faster, or "go potty" sooner, but you did it first.
You may have suffered a bit from our inexperience with open pins, clumsy baths, and overprotection, but you got something better. You got our patience, our stamina, and our youth.
You got the part of us that was the best we had to give. Our struggle and our triumph over it. You were Hamburger Helper. You were redeeming bottles for movies. You were fresh grandparents who woke you up when you were asleep to rock you to sleep. You were six volumes of baby pictures and a set of encyclopedias. You were house calls for gas pains. You were strained lamb. You were the beginning. You were wanted and you were loved.
Mama
~~~~~~~~~~
Dearest Steve:
You must have suspected, but I will say it anyway. I have always loved you best.
You drew such a stupid spot in the family and instead of caving in, you became all the stronger for it. How I did admire your fire, your independence, and your impatience. You may have worn faded, played with chipped toys, and never in your life did anything first, but you rose above it.
You are the child we relaxed with and enjoyed. The one who made us realize that a dog could kiss you on the mouth and you wouldn't die from it. If you missed a nap, you wouldn't get sick. If you sucked on a pacifier until age two, your teeth wouldn't grow in a circle.
You were a part of our busy, ambitious years. The time when priorities and values can get so mixed up. But you reminded us of what we were all about and put us back on course when we strayed.
You were the sibling that unseated the only child. You were spaghetti and meatballs at eight months. You were checking accounts written down to twenty-seven cents. You were sharing birthdays. You were arguments over bills. You were the new house we couldn't afford. You were staying home on Saturday nights. You took us away from tedium, rescued us from boredom, and stimuated us with your zest for life.
You were the constancy and you were loved.
Mama
~~~~~~~~~~
Dearest Tim:
A mother is not supposed to have favorites, but I have always loved you best.
Just when your father and I thought youth had left our lives, you came along to remind us we had something left to give. You darkened our hair, quickened our steps, squared our shoulders, restored our vision, revived our humor.
You were our second chance to enjoy a miracle from God.
You grew so fast in such a short time - or maybe it was that we didn't want to think about time. You fell heir to broken baseball bats, trains that wouldn't run, a refrigerator full of yogurt, midlife crises, and a baby book with nothing in it but a recipe for Apple Brown Betty.
You also feel heir to the one thing we never counted on: our mortality.
With you, we discarded the rules and experienced what a baby is all about. It was like seeing one for the very first time. It's a love one cannot describe.
I have loved you for your thirty-five-year-old patience, your ninety-year-old compassion, and your fifty-year-old practicality, but mostly, I love the fourteen-year-old boy who wore them awkwardly, but proudly.
You were the culmination and you were loved.
Mama
...
As the last strains of "Days of Wine and Roses" faded, two women left from the back of the church.
'Didn't it just tear your heart out to see those young boys of hers without a mother?'
The other woman leaned closer and whispered, 'I heard the medical bills took all they had. She didn't leave those boys a thing."
(I think not)
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