At random times throughout my day, I find myself thinking about her:
the woman who will carry our baby.
Sometimes I wonder about the specifics. Is she my age? Where is she from? What is her family like?
Most of the time, I imagine a vague silhouette of a woman that will forever change my life. My feelings are comprised of one part intimidation, one part compassion, and one part fear. I want so many things for her. I want to know her. I want her to be pleased, to trust me… with the greatest sacrifice of her life.
I think that is where my strongest fear lies: in the fact that the enormity of what she is giving up is being placed into my hands. I never, for even one second of my life thereafter, want to forget the significance of that.
The fears she will be facing are great, but I would want her to know that I am scared too.
I would want her to see my intimidation, compassion and fear and to believe that every part of me wants to honor her.
The mother that I am, and the mother that I will continue to become will be dedicated to that very endeavor- honoring her and her sacrifice.
More than anything, I hope she will see that our mutual love for the precious child before us can both unite us and break down every fear.
When I see our child’s mannerisms, quirks, and physical features, I will think of beautiful her.
When they smile for the first time, roll over, take their first steps, or read their first word, there she will be, in my mind’s eye and in my heart.
I will think of her bravery.
I will marvel at her wisdom.
I will honor her kindness.
I’ll tell them all about her; about how she loves them, how much she cares about them. That she loves them deeper than they can know.
My family and I will commit to holding her in the highest esteem and regarding her for all of our days as the hero she is.
May the depths of her pain not be lost on us, and may our family be a stronghold; a stepping stone for her dreams.