"And if I die before I wake..."

When I was a little girl a hand-embroidered copy of the "Now I lay me down to sleep" poem/prayer hung on my bedroom wall. The stitching was beautiful, but that line about dying before I woke up always unsettled me a bit. After a recent purging of my mother's attic, that framed poem returned to my now-bedroom. Granted, it's no longer displayed prominently on the wall, but rather tucked in my closet area back behind some boxes and a hamper, but the idea behind that line still haunts me..."if I die before I wake."

Exhumed from my closet, soon to be returned.

Last night Brynn and I went to Target. She was beside-herself-excited to buy some fancy clicky pencils with her money she's been saving up for something special. I, on the other hand, was shopping for something I was much more ambivalent about. Stationery. Don't get me wrong, I adore school/office supplies of all sorts, and stationery is no exception. In this case though, the purpose of the stationery gave me pause. I need pretty paper, with flowers or owls or sophisticated patterns, to write letters to people in case I die.

These are letters I've meant to write for a long time. Like most other parents, I've always had the occasional thought about what would happen to my child if I weren't around to take care of her. (At least, I *think* other parents do that too). Since I've been diagnosed, then rediagnosed, then rerediagnosed, I've spent a lot more time thinking about such things. One thing I decided for certain is that I wanted to leave things for Brynn, so I could continue to connect with her even if I can't be here to do it in person. Letters, presents, videos, that sort of thing. After the first rediagnosis I made 2 videos of me reading chapters from Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing. Nice, but not exactly emotionally engaging. When I tried to record a message for her to watch in the event that I died I broke down into a heaving, sobbing, gasping mess. And so I bought stationery.

Last night I wrote a letter for Brynn to read in case I die. I was still a sobbing heaving mess the whole time I was writing it, but that isn't what's captured in the letter. Brynn and I used to have a contest to say who loved each other the most and we finally tied when I introduced the concept of infinity. So in the letter I told her I love her times infinity. I explained that she shouldn't be scared because there are so many people who love her. I said how sad I was too, even just at the thought of having to leave her. I told her how very proud I am of her and I listed out some of the things I hope she'll always remember that I taught her. In fact, in the end the whole letter ended up being a reminder of things she already knows. Things I think every parent would tell their child throughout their lives and after. I love you, don't be scared, I'm proud of you, and I hope you remember all the things I've taught you.

Honestly, it was an incredibly hard letter to write. I hope the many others I want to write are easier, though I don't count on it. Yet, despite my personal struggle to write out those things, I believe everyone should write a few of these letters, especially if you have children but even if not. Death is hard for those facing it, but the real strength surrounding death comes afterward as people struggle to deal with it. There aren't many things I can do for Brynn if I die. I can't set up a big trust fund, I can't dry her tears, I can't watch her graduate. But I can leave her letters to help her deal with my death, were that to happen. I desperately hope that these letters gather dust for many many years and have to be rewritten as I watch Brynn grow older and mature. But just in case "I die before I wake" I know I'll have said I love her times infinity.