On July 3, 1998, I gave birth to you---my precious
little boy who I named Andy.  At night you slept in
the crook of my arm.  I gazed at your face.  I wanted
to memorize every detail.  I held your tiny hand in
mine, and I whispered in your ear, "Will you remember
my voice?  Will you know how much I love you?"  I kept
whispering, and you kept snoozing.  
I kept hoping that, somehow, maybe just one
sentence of mine might burrow its way into the depths
of your brain, and thirty years later you might hear
my voice again.  Maybe it would just pop up out of the
blue someday while you were eating dinner, or mowing
the lawn.  Maybe you would hear me as you were holding
your own sleeping child in your arms.  Maybe you would
suddenly feel like a hole in your life had just been
filled.  A question had just been answered.  "She
really did love me!"  
    "Yes, I did, and I still do."  
Some people may say that I gave you up.  But how
could I?  Your memory continues to live with me every
day.  Sometimes, on a cold winter's night when I'm
walking across campus, I will suddenly get the
sensation.  A tiny hand slips into mine.  A little boy
with big blue eyes looks up at me and smiles.  I smile
back, and we continue to walk...together.  No one else
can see him, but that doesn't matter.  
You have never left me.  You will always be there,
a part of my spirit, a part of my heart.  My only
prayer is that a part of my words will always remain
within you. "I love you. I love you, I love you, I
love you."
 ~Jenny McDaniel
 Lifemother to Treaver 7-3-98

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