Your Armor is the Most Important Article You Will Wear in Your Life

Carry this knowledge into the future as a reminder that you are chosen for a purpose.

The most painful tears are not the ones that fall from your eyes and cover your face. They’re the ones that fall from your heart and cover your soul. — Lessons Learned

Baby,

I am writing this letter lest you forget the building of your armor. It will protect you during difficulty, and help you to remain resolute in times of scarcity after I am gone.

My hope is you never lose sight of the tears used in its construction.

When I first saw you, my heart melted.

You were serene with long eyelashes fluttering in sweet dreams. So gentle and quiet.

Little did I know it was because you were malnourished.

At the well-baby checkup, I told the doctor how good you are. She explained that because of nutritional deficiencies, you do not have the energy to cry.

I cried in your stead.

When I learned of your birth, I traveled by automobile from Las Vegas to Oklahoma, searching for you. Then, the path rose through the clouds and landed at the Philadelphia International Airport.

The search and rescue mission was complete.

You see, my son, your dad, was only seventeen, and in jail when you entered this world alone and unattended. Your mother was thirty-three, with eight other children scattered from Nevada to Maine to Virginia.

I had to come before you were lost too.

People told me not to attempt this venture. “Your children are grown, it’s not your responsibility. Plus, your health is an issue. How can you care for an infant if you cannot care for yourself? Growing old and sick will render you incapable.”

I explained that I understand their concerns; however, I will not let my blood disappear into the earth.

This wasn’t the first time I was informed of my inability to care for someone. Forty-three years earlier, an adoption agency, procured by my parents, approached me about giving up my baby for adoption.

I was given an ultimatum — give up or get out. I chose the latter. If I could do it then, I can do it now. I mean, I’ve had training with five other children. The last one just went astray for a while.

Besides, what’s to stop me?

Other people’s opinions? I welcome challenges; they allow me to utilize my problem-solving skills.

Meanwhile, I loved you.

Whispers floated on the breeze, circled porches, spoke quietly in bedrooms, and gossiped over the kitchen sink, “How does she know that is her grandbaby?”

Well, look at her; she is the spittin’ image of her daddy. It is eerily evident she is mine. For a second, I experienced deja vu and became a time traveler observing myself in a hospital bed staring at my son.

Even today, when you are introduced to people who know your dad, they take a deep breath and exclaim, “It’s weird how much you look like him.”

A few years ago, when I applied for medical insurance, we were instructed to take a DNA test to determine if we are blood-related. After they swabbed you and your grandfather’s cheek, you looked up at me, and asked a simple yet profound question,” Why am I taking a test to find out that my dad is my dad? I already know it!” I shrugged my shoulders and stifled a chuckle.

When we received the test results that he was 99.99%, your dad, you shrugged this time.

I’ve watched you grow, and struggle to live and breathe over the past decade.

My, how you have suffered and endured pain for such a sweet girl!

The emergency room visits and hospital stays were relentless. At last count, I think we are up to twenty-five at the writing of this letter. I’ve held your limp, quavering body as the sun went down, and the fever went up during febrile seizures. Helped you to breathe when your lungs froze with asthma.

I bought you a new dress with little yellow and blue flowers to wear for your hernia surgery at six months old, and held your hand through a tonsillectomy/adenoidectomy.

I believe the worst was the sinus surgery that adults fear. Your sinuses were honeycombed with bone that had to be broken up and scraped out.

But the scariest moment was in the kitchen where I found you unconscious on the floor, and Grandpa performed CPR until the paramedics arrived. The doctors never did figure that one out. They chalked it up to medication interaction.

You have been the light of my heart and the joy of my day for many years. I know God placed you in my arms so long ago.

Do not forget your history.

It is a part of who you are. Carry this knowledge into the future as a reminder that you are chosen for a purpose.

Your pain, suffering, and neglect is an armor that you can lay down or take up any time you need it.

For example, if faced with struggles, or fiery dots, put on your armor because it is impenetrable. Persist, and nothing can stop you.

Remember, you have an army behind you and in you. The hosts of heaven and the prayers of the saints stand ready to fight with you.

You are strong. You are a warrior. Don your armor with pride.

I love you, baby.

Your Grandmother

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Debbie Walker is a great-grandmother, blogger, and writer with a BA in Psychology. Her vision is to help others live the life they desire to live…one word at a time. Stay in touch at [email protected]