Dear Mama,

I was up at 4 a.m. with a fussing baby and a preschooler who needed extra cuddles, and I remember you. I remember your silhouette at our kitchen table at that hour; your pen scratched against the pages of your journal while the smoke of your cigarette curled around the fingers in your free hand. I used to wonder if you ever slept. Now, I understand.

Dear Mama,

It’s Spring Break for Beans, and her extra hands are a burden and a blessing with Monster Girl and Lamb. When the two oldest get to fighting and the youngest stays attached at my breast, I remember you. I remember when you would make my brother and I hug it out as you rocked our youngest brother to sleep. We hated it, but did as we were told when your voice got stern. I wondered why you were so ‘mean’. Now, I understand.

Dear Mama,

It’s another dinner of disappointments. Mister P worked hard all day, and came home to freezer meatballs, jarred sauce, and spaghetti. I could read the disappointment in his face, and I fought with the kids to eat at least half of their supper. While I know that clean foods are the basis for any smart, nutritious meal inside the home, there are days I am so tired. And he is tired. And Beans always offers to make Peanut Butter and Jelly to help.

When my eyes blink back those stinging tears, and I serve a mediocre dinner with a smile, I think of you. I think of when you’d come home after working a double shift, with our dad still asleep because he works third shifts, and you’d still cook. It might’ve been green beans and hamburger helper, but you still cooked. I used to think that our suppers were gross and boring. Now, I understand.

Dear Mama,

I have lost my way. Hours of mothering and wife-ing have left me numb and depressed. They call it Baby Blues, or being ‘touched-out’. I remember you, curled up on the couch and bawling, because you didn’t hear me come home from school. I remember hugging you, and telling you it could only get better. I remember: you called it Life, and that we had to make the best of it. I thought you were just having a bad day. Now, I understand.

So to my other Mothers out there in the trenches, feeling like there’s no back-up, and the war is never ending: I understand. There are many more of us out there, silently holding everything together.