The Gift of Children: A Mother’s Reflection

The Gift of You: A Mother's Reflection

I want to write about my oldest child’s birthday. She is my only surviving child, and even naming it that way feels both heavy and sacred.

My thoughts often return to the cold, snowy winter of 1983 when I was pregnant with her. I had waited five long years for her arrival, years shaped by longing, hope, and quiet prayers. When she was born on January 13, 1983, she brought joy into our lives that I could never have imagined.

January 13, 1983, was the day Down Under by Men at Work was released, but the song that always brings me back to that season is Michael Jackson’s Billie Jean. Michael Jackson later became one of my daughter’s all-time favorite performers, a small but meaningful thread that ties those early days.

I did not want to know the sex of either of my babies. I preferred the mystery, the waiting, the surprise. When they placed her in my arms and told me she was a girl, I was overwhelmed with joy. In that moment, something deep inside me shifted. I was forever changed.

Motherhood changed me in ways I never expected.

Giving birth sparked an instant love unlike anything I had known before, paired with a profound sense of responsibility. That love was fierce and protective, tender and humbling all at once. Even without understanding all that it would ask of me, I embraced it fully.

Motherhood taught me patience I did not know I had. It invited me to notice the beauty in small, ordinary moments, a tiny hand holding mine, a laugh that could fill an entire room. It shaped me with humility and showed me how deeply a heart can stretch when rooted in love.

Now, decades later, my firstborn is a mother herself to two beautiful little girls. They have been, and continue to be, sources of deep joy and steady light, especially on days when life and grief feel overwhelming. Through their innocence and wonder, I have been given the gift of seeing life again through fresh eyes. Watching them laugh, explore, and play reminds me of what it truly means to jump in puddles, to enter life fully, even when it is messy. Life is imperfectly perfect and still worth embracing.

I have always made a big deal about my children’s birthdays, and I am grateful that I did. Looking back, those celebrations are treasures. They remind me that choosing to celebrate life matters and that joy gathered along the way becomes a source of strength later on.

Life will never be quite the same without Kevin here to celebrate birthdays or wish his sister a happy one. I know he loves her. Sibling grief is often quiet and overlooked, yet it is deep and enduring.

I honor her strength and resilience. She gives me courage and motivation to keep doing hard things, even when grief feels heavy. She is adventurous and brave, willing to step into experiences that stretch her, such as skydiving and scuba diving, and to continue forward through challenges with determination. She chose a career path where being a woman still brings added obstacles, and she has met them with quiet strength and perseverance.

I watched her carry so much during Kevin’s memorial service, tending to details no sibling should ever have to bear. In those heartbreaking moments, I saw her compassion, her unwavering steadiness, and her deep love.

Years earlier, on a traumatic day in April 2008, we couldn’t find Kevin. In his first attempt to end his pain, he left a note saying he couldn’t live in this painful world anymore. Without hesitation, she sprang into action, drawing on every ounce of strength and resolve she had to help find him. By God’s grace, we found him safe that day.

She has always shown her love through her actions. I trust that God’s care and guidance will continue to surround her through every season of her life.

Today, I celebrate not only her birthday but the woman she has become. A woman of courage, depth, determination, and grace. A woman and mother who is building a strong foundation for her daughters and leaving her imprint on the world.

I love you dearly, my daughter.

If this reflection speaks to you, I invite you to hold your loved ones a little closer today. Celebrate their lives, mark the moments, and trust that God is present in both joy and sorrow. And if you are walking through grief, may you know that your love still matters and that you are held, even here.