My Darling Ava,
A couple months ago, I needed to have a CT scan of my abdomen and being the tiny thing that I am, the image also captured my lung; more specifically a suspicious spot on my lung. You are, thankfully, too youngto realize the potential implications of this "incidental finding", but I was all too aware of the possibilities. Suddenly, I pictured the worst diagnosis followed by difficult draining treatment and, since I am pessimist of the worst sort, death before the age of 35.
The worst, scariest, most gut wrenching, heartbreaking thought was that I would be leaving you to fend for yourself in this world. Yes, of course you have a loving and amazing father and completely awesome relatives who would step in and move heaven and earth to care for you, but you would be motherless. Motherless before age 5. I realized there were so many things I wanted to tell you. So many things I wanted you to know about yourself, about me, about your family, about the world and life. I cannot claim to know everything or even most thing, but I do know all about one thing. You. I know you. I know you better than anyone else in this entire world. You are the most perfect thing I have every made. I have also made a fair share of mistakes and I like to think that I have learned from most of them.
It turns out, as life often does, ok. The spot did not grow or change; it was most likely scar tissue or something from long ago that would never become anymore more than a spot. And while I knew I would be ok, the realization that someday I might not be stuck with me. I wanted to find a way to share myself with you. That even if someday I am not here with you, I want you to have something of me. I am a writer, so writing letters to you made sense. I could write words that you can read again and again. Words that can comfort you. Maybe even words that you can look to for advice. I love you so very very much.
Love,
Mom
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