Tom Sonday

If I were randomly asked for attributes that describe me, at the top of the list most of the time would be “Mom.” And, 26 years ago this evening, this perfect little girl wriggled into the world, blessing me with that title.

I shot down to Hotlanta this week to visit her for a few days, a visit that had both pros and cons.

One “pro” is that she lives just down the street from Baskin-Robbins.

Or, maybe that’s a “con.” I finished my second quart is just over 48 hours last night …

On the “pro” side, I got to do what I came to Atlanta to do: see my beautiful baby girl. I’m slightly biased, but she’s running and working out and in love, and I don’t think she’s ever looked better since probably she was five, with the endearing cuteness of being scrawny with missing teeth and huge, brown, chipmunk eyes.

And, the “con?”

There is no one to share my parental pride with. Sure, there are relatives and friends who care for her completely, who also watch with wonder and appreciation the amazing woman she’s becoming. But, there’s no one person to say “remember when…” to — because the life partner who exchanged that bewildered glance with me when they handed her over to take home that morning in the hospital, the guy who also wore milk on every outfit for the first three months because she was a burp machine — he’s gone.

Yet, he’s so very present. There are pieces of him (and me) in each of our children, but the Tom runs strong in this one. Jessica has his love of office supplies, a seedling of his love of baseball, his ability to ask the tough questions about situations that were unclear which then clarifies them, his powerful stubbornness. Spending time with her both salved my hurting and sliced my wounds deeper as I discovered new ways of missing him. There are bazillions of people who care for her, but no one to uniquely confide in and take pride with over her accomplishments. And when I grow silent and distant in the midst of shopping or having dinner with her friends because the pain is too stinging, I can’t seek consolation in her. I’m missing my husband, but she’s missing her Daddy … and you only get one of those.

He’d be so proud of her — her organized apartment, her technological savvy, her self-discipline, her work ethic.

He wouldn’t show it easily or openly though. He always let the kids know the bar was even higher. Tough love, laced with long conversations late at night when I was snoring under cats, and his buying them stupid surprises that delighted them.

Tom was the best present acquirer — another trait Jess inherited from him, although she didn’t inherit the funds that would make it easier for her to use the trait!

I tried to acquire her good presents. We went shopping, which neither of us love, and Tom, er rather, his points-back-from-Discover-Card, bought her lovely sweaters. I got a matching sweater, because she channeled him and told me what I know he would’ve said “you hate to shop. You’re out doing it. If you find something you like just get it.”

Another “pro” was spending time with her boyfriend Travis and his daughter Haley. On her birthday eve dinner, we met them at a restaurant. Unbeknownst to all involved, Haley showed up in a nearly identical sweater to the one we’d just purchased for Jessica.

Coincidence? Maybe. I like to think it was Tom’s influence from beyond, to show his support of Jess’ strong, nurturing step-mother-esque-ness. The guy always did acquire the most amazing presents for those of us he loved.

And Skippy, he loved you beyond any possible limits … so much that we had more of you wailing, burping machines whom we also love unconditionally.

Happy Birthday Beautiful Baby Girl — from both of us, whom you proudly made your parents.