Dear Joan: A Letter to my Mom When She Was 30 Years Old

Let’s pretend for a moment that it’s 1984. So instead of being my 30th birthday, today my mom is thirty, flirty and pregnant. This is the letter I would give to her as someone with insight into her life.

Dear Joan,

A friend of mine recently posed an interesting question: If you couldn’t speak or write or prove yourself in any way, would people know you? Would they see your values and beliefs through your actions?

When she asked us this, I thought immediately of you and of yes. If someone analyzed your actions, she would see that you cherish your family and church. You enjoy reading and singing and hosting friends at your home. She’d see that you really care about that toddler of yours. You, more than anyone I know, love actively. Fiercely and warmly. Without pretense.

A month ago, you turned 30. You live in a little mountain town. You and your husband have a son, with another on the way. Not long ago, your mother passed away. I never met Caroline, but I’m still so saddened by that loss. I know that you were close, that she was your best friend.

Without giving away too many secrets of what’s to come, I want you to know that your own daughter will feel the same about you. She’ll feel inspired by you. I’m going to share a bit, but please don’t change anything — you will do it all right.

And in case you’re wondering, you don’t know me yet, but you will soon.

You and your baby girl

After having your two sweet boys, you’ll give birth to a girl. You’ll call her Baby Girl until she’s into her 30s but simultaneously respect her like an adult from a young age. You will let her play independently while you tend to chores or work at the computer, but you’ll also sit with her to watch stuffed animal talent shows and weddings and funerals — without laughing. Seriously, how are you so compassionate?

In fact, you will listen to your daughter a lot. For long periods of time. She will go on raging monologues about not being good at any sports or hobbies, or not having the attention of the cute boy, or not understanding a new subject in school. You won’t give her the answers. You’ll just ask why she feels that way and listen. Joan, I want to listen like you.

Like the Gilmore Girls, but with fewer pop culture references

When your children grow up and your sons leave home and your husband takes a job in Southern California, you’ll stay in your kids’ hometown so that your daughter can finish high school. You two will have the best year. You’ll listen to Jack Johnson, make a million banana pancakes, do Pilates in the living room and swap books all weekend long. I can hardly believe you’ll choose to live an eight-hour drive from your husband in order to share that year with your daughter.

And that year will be transformational for her. She’ll be able to grow quietly in the comfort of home, and she will treasure the gift of security — even though you won’t always see that.

Because when she grows up, and yes, when you still call her Baby Girl, she will leave home. Repeatedly. She will grow, now more loudly and with greater focus. She’ll find new homes in places that will feel far but still be accessible, if you both try. And I implore to you try, because she will want to know you as an adult. Here’s why.

The gift of your friendship

Throughout your daughter’s life, you’ll feel like a friend to her, which is perhaps why she will so deeply respect all of her own friends. You’ll be the first example of someone worth spending time with — and you’re seriously awesome company.

Joan, this part is incredible. Through the knotted roots of loss, you will grow to become a what you always wanted to be: a teacher. Just like your mother. You’ll volunteer in your children’s classrooms, work as a teacher’s aide for years and never relinquish your dream of making it your full-time gig. Your perseverance is powerful!

When your husband encourages you to go back to college in your mid-40s, you’ll go for it. When you retire after 10 years but then get asked to take on a full-time role, you’ll say yes. When you’re offered to earn a new credential at age 61, you’ll accept. You will receive opportunities and then take action to continue developing yourself. Your daughter will be in awe.

Remember my friend’s question about living vibrantly through behavior? You do that so well. You listen. You wait. You act. You let go and you never cease to grow.

Today, on my 30th birthday, I want to grow beside you, in my birthright and with your friendship. Thanks be to God for weaving together our branches.

With love,

Alicia Caroline