Letters to Arden – July 27, 2010

Dear Arden,

Sometimes in the early morning, when I strip you down and hold you close, you seem to me the newborn again. Soft skin, bright eyes, fuzzy hair. You fit perfectly in my arms, and we snuggle in a shared warmth.
Sometimes I close my eyes and remember the day of your birth, May 17, 2010. You were born at 8:48 am. I don’t remember that moment, but you were the last prayer of my heart in the operating room and the first thought on my mind when I woke up. You were so tiny, a gift from God wrapped in your daddy’s shirt. Loving strength and warmth were his first gifts to you.
Now I look in your deep blue eyes and see ten weeks of living. They’ve gone by so fast! But time stands still when we gaze at each other, and I know somehow you have always been part of my heart. And no matter how big, you always will.


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