A Birthday Love Letter to My Love Child..
Hey my Ageless Wisdom Friends..
I wanted to share a letter I wrote to my daughter who has a birthday coming up this Saturday, February 14th. I am sharing my words with you that I wrote from my heart, in hopes that it will touch someone reading this and say the things on your heart that you haven't been able to put in words yet.
It took me hours to write this from the depth of my heart..
A Letter to My Daughter
It’s a quiet February evening here on Long Island. Your mother, the writer, is sitting at her desk with a cup of coffee growing cold in her hands and a head full of thoughts.
Outside, the wind brushes against the window. Inside, my heart is full.
I keep thinking about how strong and wise and beautiful you are — after spending this afternoon with you at the DMV renewing your license, and then stopping for our annual mother-daughter birthday toast.
I’m thinking about you — the same little Valentine miracle who once fit in the crook of my arm.
The look I saw in your eyes today was different. Maybe you were thinking about growing older and all the changes that come when you approach your 50s. Maybe you were feeling behind your peers. Maybe you were wondering if life has moved too quickly.
And I looked up from my computer and smiled.
Baby Girl. My Mishele Belle.
Let me tell you something you don’t know about the night your dad and I got married.
I prayed harder than I ever had in my life for God to allow me to conceive a child.
There was a time when three doctors — from Thailand, Texas, and Tennessee — looked me in the eye and told me I would never carry a child. They said my uterus had prolapsed. Tilted. “Not built for pregnancy,” they said.
Then I met your father.
That first night together, I cried until there were no tears left.
Our little room was quiet. The world felt heavy. I remember sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall, believing the story they handed me. Believing my body had failed me. Believing motherhood might not be written into my future.
My Love Child, here is what I want you to know:
I almost accepted what man said. I almost let that diagnosis become my identity.
But here’s the truth.
God had already written a different ending.
When you were born on Valentine’s Day, I didn’t just hold a baby.
I held proof.
Proof that medical reports do not outrank miracles. Please don't ever forget that. You are living proof!!
Proof that bodies can defy statistics.
Proof wrapped in a tiny, beautiful baby girl in my arms.
And in my heart, I softly named you my “Love Child.” You were born three minutes before midnight. Three minutes later, and it would have been another day — and you might not have carried that name. But Heaven timed you perfectly.
Proof that what looks impossible to man is still possible with God.
Back in the 70s, we didn’t know whether we were having a boy or girl. I chose the name Michael, meaning “like God.” And if our first child were a girl, she would be Michele — the feminine form.
By the grace of God, twenty months later, I delivered your brother — my Michael, my son, my protector.
Proof again that man does not have authority over miracles. Only God does.
And then, God closed the door.
No more.
My prayers had been answered — twice.
When you became a mother yourself, something sacred happened.
Our bond didn’t just continue — it deepened.
You understood my fears. My prayers. My sleepless nights. My fierce protection. Somewhere in that season, we stopped being only mother and daughter.
We became friends.
Best friends.
Through thick and thin, we have walked side by side — laughing, crying, advising, forgiving, cheering each other on.
People often say, “I wish I had that kind of relationship with my mother.”
And every time I hear that, I whisper a quiet thank you to God.
Because I know what it took to get here.
You were prayed for.
You were fought for.
You were promised.
And our love has never been fragile — it has always been undeniable.
Today, I was talking to my friend and he laughed when he asked how to spell your name, and I said adamantly, “There is no HELL in her name — one L only - M-I-S-H-E-L-E...
(I know you can hear me saying that just like I’ve said it a hundred times before.)
Let me ask you something daughter:
Do you know what seventy-three feels like?
No, you don’t. Not yet.
It feels like WINNING!!
My whole world still lights up when you laugh — just like when you were a little girl. How many times have “we laughed so hard we almost peed our panties” moments have we had? More than I can count.
The older I get, the more I realize that growing older is a privilege denied to many.
Every gray hair and every line on my face is:
A testimony.
A signature of survival.
A chapter written in love.
Evidence of a life fully lived.
A love story etched into my skin.
Proof that I showed up.
A blessing I survived.
I survived things I didn’t think I would survive.
I carried a child they said I never could.
I watched you grow into a woman.
When I was younger, I thought staying youthful was the prize. I thought being strong meant being flawless. I thought success meant keeping up.
But now I know — growing older is not losing anything.
It is gaining wisdom, peace, and perspective.
Age is heat.
Age is what turns flour into bread.
Life bakes you.
The storms. The prayers. The waiting rooms. The disappointments. The laughter. All of it.
These lines around my eyes are from laughing with you.
From crying over you.
From praying for you.
From thanking God for you.
Listen to your seventy-three-year-old mother and know this:
Aging is not decay. It is evidence.
The body slows down so the soul can catch up.
THAT'S THE SECRET.
I don’t look in the mirror and panic anymore. When I see silver in my hair, I remember the woman who once cried because she thought she would never be a mother.
When I see lines in my face, I remember rocking you at 3 a.m. on Valentine’s night, whispering, “You were worth the wait.”
Don’t you dare rush your life trying to stay young. Don’t you dare cover up your story. When you see signs of aging, welcome them. You earned them. When you see lines forming, thank God you smiled enough to earn them.
You were born against all odds.
You are living proof that impossible is just a word.
I look at you — not as a seventy-three-year-old woman afraid of time — but as a mother who won.
Maybe the goal isn’t to stay young forever.
Maybe the real goal is to grow old so gratefully, so boldly, and so beautifully… that you, my daughter, one day look forward to seventy-three.
Happy Birthday, my Valentine miracle.
You were never unlikely.
You were always promised.
And loving you has been the greatest privilege of my life.
For your birthday this year, I’m not giving you something that fades or sparkles. I’m giving you the only thing I have that grows stronger with time. My love, written down so you can return to it whenever you need to remember who you are and whose you are.
With all the love this heart of mine can muster,
Mom
(or “Bruh,” in our private language)
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A Birthday Love Letter to My Love Child..
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