They said whaaa?

This morning Davis woke up with a case of the "seasonal allergies." I knew right away by looking at his runny nose because I had woke up during the night with itchy watery eyes, and the same runny nose. This morning was also the morning that bright and early my husband was to drop his work truck off to be serviced, so I was going to follow him down to the shop. I quickly got Davis dressed and realized that his runny nose came with a case of the grumpies. In case you are not familiar with the grumpies in a two year old, they are quite unpleasant as there is no reasoning with the cute tiny being.

Heading into town, I thought to myself, I will accomplish all I need to do while I am out! Our dog, "Kenai," needed a new collar as his was about toast. He is a large breed, Border Collie and Lab mix, which doesn't sound BIG, but he is on the large 100+ pounds side. But skinny...  oh so slim. So in my grand scheme to run all of my errands, I decided to bring Kenai along for his first trip to Petco... cause you know, "it's where the pets go." And because I needed to be sure the collar that we bought fit him accordingly.

It took both my husband and I to control our hundred pound mans best friend trying to try his new collar on. Standing next to the collars where we were standing, was... child sized shopping carts. It was like Davis had become magnetized to the real life, just his size, shopping cart. I offered to check out while he took the tiny shopper to the car. As me and the horse dog, walked to the register, you could hear the shrill cry of two year old devastation. I entered the line behind a elderly gentleman, and a younger woman.

"Someone never heard of birth control. You can tell by the screaming child," the old man smugly says. "Mmmmmmhmmmm," replies the young girl. I stood there a minute. An honest ten seconds before what had just come out of his mouth processed to me. Then, I was flooded with a rainbow of emotions.I was hurt. I was shocked. I was angry. That was MY child. MY son. And MY parenting these complete strangers were referencing so callously. I began to say something. Once upon a time I would have. Once upon a time I would have had so many of my own opinions to offer in retort to his remark. Today, I stood in silence. I held my tongue knowing that no matter what I said to that man it would not change his view on the subject. Knowing that it was not my job to scold, or condemn him for his ignorance.

It made me think about all of the moms in the world. All of the ones, doing their absolute best at this very moment. All of the moms who find themselves on their knees at night, seeking God because of all of the failures they face. All of the moms who are trying while not knowing how to pray. The moms of two year olds facing a grumpy day. Or teenagers who are branching out and testing their independence. I thought of all of the moms who face this criticism on a daily basis because their child has autism.

It hurts. The judgment from a complete stranger really does hurt. But don't let it discourage you. Because if you are truly fighting for your child, none of those comments matter in the end. Nothing a child does makes his life any less valuable. Especially if those things are normal developmental things.

So maybe, as moms and dads, the next time we see a mom or dad trying their best in a store with a crying two year old, we can outstretch our love to one another. A kind smile. Or a sincere "we have all been there at one point."  Maybe an outpouring of love will counteract the negativity that is in so many hearts. Let us lift each other up during this journey.

It's no fairy tale.

Once upon a time, this blog space was used to write about, my daily mundane activities. Once upon a time I posted pictures with stories about how I gave the dog a flea bath, or how my back window is smugdy with fingerprints. (Google doesn't like the word smudgy. Oh google, you obviously don't have children...)

Then September of 2010, my blog grew a heavy heart. This became a place where I could share the story of my daughter, when the world barely got to know her. I hoped if anyone visited regularly, it'd be my family. So they might be able to understand what we were going through behind closed doors. That they might want to continue remembering Savannah with us. Along side us. And more than anything it was a place where I could write, and come back to, just so I could remember her. So I could remember her story. So I could feel her again and again and again. I wanted to shout from the highest mountain, and for people to not just hear me, but truly listen. "This is what a year without our baby was like." And quicker than I ever could have imagined, that year was gone. But incredibly, as a mother, as her mother, my grief did not stop there. Everyday is a new day. Everyday I am given reasons to smile. Everyday I wake to my beautiful children. The ones who wadded the storm with us, and the one whom followed our goodbye. Everyday is a reminder that God does love us. And everyday there is something out there that remind us of her.

The word "grief" will always hover. It will never be as suffocating as it was the first week, the first month, or the first year, but it will always be there. Because she very much does reside in our hearts. She will never ever go away. So you can think, that because I choose to still write about her, I have no hope. You can think that because her pictures still and will always hang in our home, that I need to let it go. You can worry about me, tire of me speaking her name, or smile awkwardly when I acknowledge my deceased daughter as my child. I am okay with that. But this is apart of my story, and you have never (or that I hope) walked in my shoes. You never kissed Savannah's tiny quarter sized hand. You never kissed her cold, yet still chubby cheeks. You did not carry her, deliver her, or love her anywhere near the way that I do.

I have never walked in any other mother's shoes. I don't know their grief. I know my own. And it will always be there. As long as I am her mother.

I received a junk email the other day. Asking me, "would you like to boost traffic to your blog?" It listed suggestions on how to do just that. Post everyday. Being my family, are usually the people who don't read my blog, no one really wants to hear that we went camping, were mauled by mosquitoes, and froze to death. And no one really wants to hear that my mothers day was spent mostly crying. -Post pictures in every blog. My blog is mainly about living life without Savannah. My pictures are limited. There will never be new pictures of her. I take a picture of her gravesite at every visit, but to others, one headstone picture is plenty.

A few days before mother's day, my mother-in-law finally got a chance to give us copies of the pictures she took of Savannah, when she came to see all three of us at UC Davis. I had never seen any of them. There were fifteen. The last "new" fifteen pictures I will ever see of my daughter in my life. So here you go junk email. A picture on my post. I really don't think it will boost my traffic though...

This mothers day was not easy for me. A week before I overheard a contest on the radio. I turned up the volume to listen.

"Call in and tell us YOUR perfect mother's day.

One lucky winner will get their dream day."

They then played an example "wish" from a caller. Not to be surprised, as mother's day is actually very superficial...

"You see, I truly love my two girls....

But I would love an evening with just my husband.

We would take a helicopter ride over the city,

and eat dinner at a restaurant we could never afford otherwise."

My husband asked, "what would your perfect mother's day be?"

I dunno I shrugged, and turned the radio down.

Obviously I didn't win. Because obviously I didn't call in. May 13th, I woke up and took a shower. Then proceeded to sob as I told my husband about why I was hurting so badly. I said, "that radio contest. They said to describe your perfect mothers day. If I called in all I would say would be, I just want my baby back. And you know what. I know they would never ever pick me as the winner."

Mother's Day is about being a mother. You are always acknowledged for the living children you have. Expectant mothers are even acknowledged. But mother's day is a painful reminder for mothers who are and always will be missing one. I am Savannah's mother too. And I will never have my perfect mothers day. Another example of how I will always carry this grief in my pocket. My mothers day, the mothers day for women who loved and lost, will never be perfect again. Because our lives? It's no fairy tale.  

 

"The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen, nor touched, 

but are felt in the heart" 

- Helen Keller

Rockin' my baby, cause babies don't keep.

I read a blog post tonight. About a woman staring at the front door as her seventeen year old breezed past on the way to work. About how she would give anything to have one more moment of rocking her now large boy to sleep. To nurse him, and nurture him one last time.

As my three month old, blue eyed, snoring little man lay swaddled next to me I realized something. I do not have a seventeen year old boy yet. I don't even have a seventeen year old girl yet. But I do have children. And three of my four children do not require me to rock them, nurse them, and nurture them to sleep.

I also have heard many different parenting philosophies. "Don't hold that baby so much, your teaching them bad habits." As if holding your child close is like picking a wedgie... "Doesn't that child have a bed?" As if cradling a sleeping infant in your arms is an inconvenience to others.... I even once, believe it or not, was scolded for bringing my daughter to the dinner table. My first baby, and in carrying her swing to the table so she could be apart of our family gathering, was told that "it was strange and the baby should be in the other room." As if she was an unruly pet...

For me personally, I think everyone is entitled to their own parenting styles, and preferences. With the exception for child abuse or child neglect. Those are the only times I believe someone should step in. When in actuality, it seems more taboo to confront those types of situations, than it is for grandparents, random strangers even, to solicit advice to parents because they "hold their child/ren too much."

Last year, when the kids were attending a charter school up the road from us, Sarah one day came home and told me a little boy in her class didn't have a lunch and was hungry. Being she has such a compassion for others, she shared her lunch with this fellow classmate. It wasn't for a bit until I learned this was a regular occurance. I began packing extra food in her lunch box, and proceeded to mention it to the teacher. She told me she wasn't aware, but she would look into it. A week or so later, when I asked Sarah she told me he still was still sharing lunches with the kids in her class. How can a child go hungry for an entire school year, unnoticed?

I'm not saying my children have never cried, whined, or had a "terrible-two-temper-tantrum." They have. I have a Brody. And Brody can cry (even now) if he hears the sky is blue. Okay maybe that is a little extreme, but you catch my drift. I'm not telling you that "your way is wrong and mine is right." (Insert frantic finger shaking) Because my way isn't perfect. There is no such thing. I can't stand hearing people standing on their soapboxes shouting "my ideas and opinions are right, and if you don't agree you are a bad parent." All I am saying is time is short. Rock your babies. Because in a few short years they won't be babies. They will be venturing off on their wobbly, unsteady legs, ready to explore the world on their own. And every step they take is one more step away from needing your arms to be their everything. Like this mother's blog I read tonight, in what only seems like a few short years from those teetering legs, you will be left with nothing but a front door... As they drive themselves to work...

I think I am going to wake up my Davis now, just so I can rock him back to sleep. You know, because I hold him too much anyways. Goodnight all. 

Days, Weeks, Months, and Years.

Its always such a proud feeling. "How old is your baby?" Random strangers ask. It starts in days. Two days. Five days. Nine. As brand new mothers, we have a tendency to go by days. We don't say one week, we say seven days. Why is that I may ask? I think it is because days sound so brand new. Days sound so close to birth. Weeks? Now weeks sound like they have been here that much longer. Regardless one week or seven days, these little people have been here the same amount of time.

Davis has already passed the days stage. And as we pass into the months verses weeks timeline, now as mothers, I count by weeks. I feel as though time is against me. I remember before I ever became a mother, I used to roll my eyes hearing "moms" talk about how fast time speeds by when you have children. Time is just time, I'd think. The days are just as long when you have children.

Then Sarah was born. And Michael. Brody. Savannah came and went. Now Davis. Time does in fact swallow you whole. Almost in the most unforgiving ways. The last weeks of pregnancy tick by at what feels like a snails pace. Then the instant the brand new human being is placed in your arms, they are already a month old. Once you being to wrap your mind around the month idea, you are planning their first birthday. And from there you suddenly have a kindergartener, facing their own form of independence.

This summer, our oldest celebrates her eighth birthday. It seems like yesterday that she was Davis' size. Still adjusting to a new, confusing world. A time where I was adjusting to a new and confusing world too. We were learning together. There was no one else that needed my attention. All I had to wrap my mind around was one. I counted days, and weeks, and months. There were no other stresses. No other heart aches. I try to look back at my brief time, so it seems, before I knew what heart ache really was.

I watch the clocks more closely these days. One week from today marks eighteen months. I should have an eighteen month old as well as a five week old. I should have two children in diapers. But I don't. And because I don't it doesn't mean I have stopped thinking of her. No, it's not as fresh. There are times that I go without having her in the front of my mind. After all it has been eighteen months.

{After all it has been eighteen months.} 

But eighteen months really isn't that long. Savannah would still be adjusting to a new and confusing world. The quicker time goes by with my earthside children, the more I feel time fading from the one I try to remember. In more ways then one, I realize that time will always be unforgiving. I get caught up in everything I need to accomplish. So I am trying to reassure myself that as Davis reaches the five week milestone, Savannah spends her eighteenth month in heaven, Brody a fresh four year old, and Michael and Sarah approach seven and eight, that right now, this very second, routine is a four letter word. That dirty dishes, and dirty laundry never killed anyone. Time may be unforgiving, but at least I know my kids will forgive me when I can remember what these "days" felt like...

To love and be loved in return.

The other day, as my husband and I braved the crowds Christmas shopping, a woman with the "December frantic" look on her face, slammed her cart into mine as she rounded the corner. She was moving so rapidly, there was enough force to bump my shopping cart into my pregnant stomach. In my "accidents happen" reaction, I started to move the cart closer to the shelves trying to give the shopper more space to glide freely down the isle. Before I could courtiously do so, ignorantly expecting your typical polite reaction exchanged between two strangers, the woman scraped her cart down the side of mine too impatient and caught up in her own life to show decency to another human being. And when the pure shock lifted from me, my heart hurt.

As a Christian, I celebrate Christmas. I choose to believe that "for God so loved the world, he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." (-John 3:16) I openly chose to, as some would say, put all my faith in something that cannot be seen. And however you feel about me based on my decisions I can live with that. If you would rather hear "Happy Holidays" over "Merry Christmas," that is just as much your prerogative as it is mine to choose Jesus Christ as my Lord and savior. But this blog post is not me defending my faith or religion. This post is not about my Christmas and your Holiday.

I don't know all there is to know about other religions. I don't know details about atheism, buddhism, muslim, or being jewish and celebrating hanukkah. Aside from the separations between my Christianity and any of the above preferences, I do not see why mankind is so incapable of love. Regardless of differences. Regardless of religion. Especially this time of year. No matter what we are choosing to celebrate.

I sat wrapping presents yesterday as my little ones sat watching "Mickey's Once Upon a Christmas." A child's cartoon teaches something so simple that most humans have lost sight of. Donald Duck gave his nephews a Christmas card that read,

"Christmas isn't about candy canes, holly, or lights all aglow,

its about the lives that we touch and the care that we show."

I have experienced it now. The unknown first year. We endured all of the traditional holidays. The first year through grief, for me, was not only about healing and growing, it was also about learning. As a mother burying her child, you have to learn to walk all over again. One baby step at a time. You have to learn how to go about your daily life with a permanent absence. You have to learn how to celebrate these holidays minus one. And you have to learn to accept the crulety in the world when they acknowledge the sweet life you cherish, in a dark and cynical manner.

A very strong and beautiful friend of mine today, once again, held her head high today as she defended her two sons. She proudly display's pictures of them on her desk at work. Both born premature, one little man in heaven, one special needs sweetheart here with her. A co-worker, also a new employee walked by her desk and one of the pictures caught the woman's eye. As if these pictures were the most offensive thing she would see all day, she asked in disgust, "Is THAT your baby? Oh my gosh, WHAT is wrong with him!"

I now know mothers of loss. But I know mothers of special needs as well. They face the same disturbed reaction, that we who carry death around with us do. If not more. We can disclose the information. Our babies are always there, but not viewable to all.

And just in the same way people can bump into you and neglect to offer a simple apology, people can be judgmental, rude, and harsh. Mothers proudly take their special needs children with them everywhere. And I would do the exact same. Whether the world has lost sight of love and compassion or not.

A family member of mine, will not come around me. Not only are they angry of the death of Savannah, the life of Davis has only succeeded in making the bitterness worse. Since I lost one, this precious boy, is only viewed through death's eyes for this family member. I see women choose to have babies after the heartache of tragedy everyday. I know I will have to experience the first year all over again, yet in a different way. I will see the milestones. I will have the little one at the holidays. And all over again, I will have to experience this change, minus one. But that IS what Christmas, or "this holiday" means.

A love SO strong,

a parent would sacrifice everything. 

In the end, 

loving someone,

is the greatest gift of all. 

To whom it may concern,

To whom it may concern,

Let me just get it out in the open. You did notice correctly as I walked passed with my three children in tow. I do have another on the way, my belly sure doesn't lie to you these days. Ultimately, if I did the math correctly that does in deed make four children. Socially speaking that is. What my belly and my row of ducklings do not announce to the naked eye, is actually, counting the child I carry in my heart, I do in fact have five children.

So, though I will always be polite, smile and respond to your questions or comments, I will never fully understand why society, strangers, friends and family, really care to know, if this is our last. Or to remind me, in case I was just a mental case for, heaven forbid wanting all of my children, that I must be "pretty busy." (Insert wide eyes here.)

So let me explain a little about my family. Since you, dear stranger in the grocery store, care so much to know if we are going to have any more...

My husband is not a doctor. He is not a lawyer, dentist, surgeon, or business executive. He is though, what a vast majority of American's are not these days. He is a full time, hard working, employee. He has gotten up five days a week, and promoted through chains of command, for years, and through each of the five children we have. One income mind you. Yes, that is correct. I am also a stay at home mother. I provide all of the daily care. All of the nurturing, discipline, compassion, and self-sacrificing love that I could pay obscene amounts of money to receive from a complete stranger.

I spend twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, with my four, (to your naked eye) children. So thank you for reminding me how busy I am. If you don't mind, I would like to remind you of something,

Children are a choice. They are a gift. They do not come with a paycheck, nor should you receive a paycheck for having them. They are joyful and delightful. They are not an obligation. They are not a reason to cringe if you see more than two in the grocery store. They can be stripped from us at any given moment. They are fragile lives, and fragile spirits. They require one hundred percent of our love and devotion or they will always feel like society sees them as "one more."  But they are not one more. They are human beings. They are a decision and a desire from one mothers womb to the world. They hold the future in the palm of their tiny hands. They are miracles. They transform from literally nothing into living, breathing, souls. Noisey, messy, chaotic, and as you wont let me forget, busy souls.

So even though my barefoot and pregnant lifestyle may not appeal to you, I like it. No, I love it. And since the question will probably never evade me... no right now we do not plan on having anymore. And I apologize if we should have stopped after we buried our last. If years down the road we do happen to discuss that option, please let me take down your number so I can get your consult on the matter.

If you don't mind me asking, since we are being so open, you didn't have children did you? Because I can tell how much you cherish each and every one...

Sincerely,
Mother of Five.

This pregnancy was literally flying by. Seems like one second we were jumping for joy with tears in our eyes over a test that costs way too much for what you do to it, and in the blink of an eye we were over half way to meeting our little man. I kept thinking to myself, if the third trimester goes as smoothly and quickly as the first and second, I wont have to go through the agonizing torture of the anxious waiting game most all expectant mother experience.

And then at twenty-seven weeks I found myself a one way ticket into the hospital. Now hopefully you are lucky enough to never have experienced hospital bed rest, but if you have, you know first hand that every day feels like an eternity. I literally found myself so bored I would stare out the window in event something in my view changed or became exciting.

Ever since I was released I feel as though the hospital time warp followed me home. It is surreal that five weeks have passed already, but the thought of another eight weeks has become the daily torture routine. Not so much physically. But emotionally the third trimester is draining. For thirty-two weeks now, I have daydreamed about the baby I have waited two long years for. I have fantasized about the moment he is born and he cries those sweet cries. The moment the nurses say "congratulations" and leave us alone in the room with our newborn. No oxygen masks. No NICU team. No neonatologists. Just a healthy baby boy, tuckered out from a journey into our lives and even further into our hearts.

I realized today, that over a year ago we fully expected our lives to change. Our family life would be different, and everything we did would have to be changed or altered in one way or another. And it did. Just not in the way we expected it to. We do have children prior to the life and death of Savannah. I acknowledge and would never pretend that I know what it is like to loose my first born. I do know what it is like to hold a newborn, and bring that healthy baby home. But I cannot wait to experience it all over, having had those sweet memories erased by the tragedy of infant death.

A baby band-aid is what our Davis will be. You cover the open wounds and it heals. But your skin will never be the same. Most likely there will be a scar. Sometimes not noticeable to the naked eye, but it's there. In anticipating my band-aid being laid on my heart, the days seems longer, and the seconds pass slower.

But as I look at my three living breathing children, I cannot help but only want this moment. Because here soon, for the second time, our lives will change forever.

Perspective.

I remember way back when I was pregnant with Sarah. Every milestone was new, exciting, foreign. With each passing pregnancy, things were still exciting; but they were no longer foreign.

I cannot speak for every mother, but my own views are sometimes different than others on this journey of loss, or as I like to call it now, life after loss. Which I feel is okay. I am only one person and by no means is grief of a child something that can or should be judged or dictated by someone else.

For me though, this pregnancy is far different that the rest. All over again, I feel like I am a first time mother. Not in the sense my Sarah, my Michael, or my Brody are now insignificant or are no longer deemed "my children," but a first time mother because my Savannah brought forth her own set of new and foreign experiences.

I'm not sure if you'd call it grief. I'm not sure if you'd call it uncertainty. I'm just plain and simple not sure what it is, but I'm not sure how to be a mother to an infant again...

Today marks the twenty fifth week of this pregnancy. With only fifteen weeks until we meet Davis in person, I wonder to myself, "where did this pregnancy go?" I've been the pregnant mother who complains about being uncomfortable. Wishing the baby would just "hurry up and get here." And though I may complain about the temperature, or whine mention that my pelvic bone pops with each and every step, the thought of the next fifteen weeks passing as quickly as the twenty five in our rear view mirror, is enough to bring me to tears. Because right here in this moment, Davis is at home. Davis is safe. These moments are how I got to mother a different child. After this moment? This is what I cannot remember.

We are now the proud owners of our very first mini van. With thanks to my dad for searching it out, we, once more, have an automobile that fits our family. Now having moved into our new house, and buying the not so "mini" family "van," I couldn't help but hit a brick wall.

"What will it be like to bring a baby to their new home? What will it be like to buckle the car seat into those extra seats bought just for their anticipation? What will those final moments in labor and delivery feel like?" The upcoming emotions, I have tried running through my head again and again.

Fear.

Facing my Fear.

Yesterday I let Sarah and Michael watch a movie I found to be deeply inspiring. "Soul Surfer." Here at the Fraser's I try my hardest to monitor what my kids watch on tv realizing the impact the littlest things can have on young hearts. "But Megan, isn't Soul Surfer about a young girl getting her arm bitten off by a shark?!"

YES!!

But the story is so much more than that. When I watched the movie prior to allowing the kids, it really hit home for me. I knew aside from the slightly gory shark attack, my kids could really learn something from the story offered. 

An example given in this movie; when you are really close to something it is hard to see the overall perspective.

Sarah and Michael watched the entire movie and I was delighted with the flow of questions afterwards...

Michael asked, "why did God let the shark take her arm?" Without thinking I said, "as terrible as it was, she learned in the end that God could use her to inspire people through her tragedy and though she has to live with this handicap she didn't let that stop her from doing what she loved. It's like how God took Savannah. That was a terrible thing, but if we lived in fear from experience we would have missed out on getting to have Davis."

And stepping back from perspective, I paused and thought for a moment while four brown eyes stared back at me. Again I said, as if I was speaking to myself, "we would have missed out on a really great thing."

Michael chimed in once more, "well... I still think she is just as beautiful."

In the eyes of a six year old, he still sees the beauty in what others can only see as tragedy, or mistake.

Bethany Hamilton's story is far from tragedy. Her story is yet another example of God's divine purpose for everyone. I may face my own future of uncertainties, but I know that facing my fears is only just the beginning. 

I cannot wait to see His plans for Davis.

From Savannah's story,

I know they must be pretty great.

Waiting for you.

To my daughter-in-laws,

As I write this to you, I understand that there is still a distance of twenty years or more between us. Some of you may not even be born yet. But I sit and write this to let each of you know, how important you are not only in their future, but how important you are to me now.

I have dreamed of girls. Having girls of my own. And I have indeed been blessed with two. But too soon, one was stripped from our life. And through the rest of my life, I am only left with one. And she will never know, what it would have been like to have a sister.

I know in my heart that my Michael, my Brody, and my Davis, will make wonderful decisions in each picking the women that God designed for them. And as your future mother-in-law, here is my hopes and dreams for each of you...

I hope that you can become the daughters I never got to have. That I can become like a second mother to each of you. I promise to be supportive, and always offer my encouragement and love. I promise to always, always think before I speak. I promise that I will spend every second up until your wedding day building your future husband. To be Godly. To be a leader, a provider, and a shelter for each of your households. I will do my best, {because after all they will each become men} to make them understand compassion, and understand a woman's feelings. Their father will teach them, how they themselves can be great fathers. I promise you, each of my son's will change dirty diapers. I will let them know that it is okay to cry, show emotions, and communicate deeply and openly with their wives. Their father will teach them how to become men. They will have manners, and talk with respect. {Hopefully, they will pick up after themselves... Most of the time.} They will not be lazy, or make you feel unappreciated. My sons will never neglect you, abandon you, betray you or hurt you. They will know what "faithful" really means. This is another thing I will promise. And up until that very moment of "I do," I promise to teach all of these things. Because in that moment, I promise to let go of the sons I once hoped would be daughters, and finally gain the daughters I always wished I had. Sarah will finally gain her sisters.

I hope you will call everyday. Not my sons... You. Or even many times a day. I want to go shopping, have lunch, and babysit each of your children. A lot. I hope on your wedding day, I can cry when I see you beautifully dressed in white, right along side your own mother. I will try to never be judgmental. And if I am, that you are comfortable enough to tell me, if I have ever hurt you. I will support your marriage until the day you die. And I promise I myself will set a good example of what a good marriage should be. I hope I never hurt you, and I promise to treat you just like you were my own. I hope that, after your own mother, I am the second person to know when you have a little person on the way. I will be at every baby shower, and I promise to smother you with gifts. I will pray for you every night. I will never offer unwanted advice or opinions. I will never degrade you, or make you cry. I will never ever let my love for my son come in between your vows. I will never make you feel as though I am competing, because I acknowledge already, that my son will forever be yours.

And if you ever need me, I promise to be there in any way you ever need me. The wait for my daughters may be longer than expected, but I promise I will wait for each of you...

"A son is a son until he marry's a wife.

A daughter is a daughter for all of her life."