Mommy's Scars

To my children,

Mommy had another scar made on her this morning. This time on my back. It will be small, like the other 22 small scars I have covering my body. Not like the one long, big scar.

I know, as you grow, you will see people's scars. You will stare. And wonder. You might think the scars are scary. You might thing the person has done something bad, something wrong, to earn them. You might be glad, one day, that you have no scars yourself to mar your own smooth skin.

I know, as you grow, you will see my scars. Your eyes, your soft finger pads, will trace them and wonder. I don't know what you'll think of them. I don't know if you'll think of them as blemishes, imperfections. I don't know if you will find them scary. Or embarrassing. I don't know if you'll wish for a mommy who didn't have any scars.

In those moments, I want you to know that scars aren't scary. They aren't bad. They aren't imperfections.

Scars are beautiful.

Scars mean the person has survived. They mean the person has healed from something dangerous that may have happened to them. Scars are a testament to life. My scars, my 22-now-23 small ones and my one big one, mean that I am here today to tell you this story. To love you. To kiss your sweet cheeks and hold you in my arms.

When your eyes, your soft fingers, find a scar on these arms as they wrap around you, I want you to smile, and snuggle into my warmth, and thank it.

Because it is what has allowed us our time together.

Love,
Mom