When I hold you, I will try to remember your tiny arms and tiny legs wrapped securely around me.

When I see you crying, I will try to remember your scraped, tanned knees and how I could fix anything with a kiss and a Band-Aid.

When you tell me to go away, I will try to remember how you reached for my hand to take your next step.

When you answer me with silence, I will try to remember the nights you wouldn’t let me go without one more story.

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When you don’t accept my hugs, I will try to remember the warmth of how you crawled into my lap.

When you shut the door, I will try to remember standing at that place looking at you sleeping soundly.

When I haven’t seen your smile in weeks, I will try to remember your silly, uncontrollable giggles.

When your heart bleeds with pain and you think no one understands, I will try to remember untangling your knots.

When you lash out and say things, I will try to remember the first time you whispered, “I love you.”

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When you say you don’t need me, I will try to remember the endless times I heard you cry out, “Mommy, come here.”

When you believe the lies the world tells you, I will try to remember the way your eyes lit up on Christmas morning.

When you write about a better world, I will try to remember the beautiful moment you entered mine and made me a mother.

When you struggle, I will try to remember my promise to never, ever leave you.

And when you wake up one morning, with daily prayers answered, finally free from everything holding you hostage, I will remember the way you fell into my weary, warrior arms and made me whole once more.