Journalling to my children

In December 1994, when my first child, Nicholas, was born, I received a gift from my friend, Sandi Schultz, which was to become an intrinsic and intimate part of my journey as a mother.

Unlike other new moms, who’re convinced they’d have no time to journal, I was excited about starting a brand new journal, detailing whatever I could of my baby’s growth, whenever I could. The book itself was beautiful, and I felt wonderful that, at such a big moment in my life, someone I loved so much knew me well enough to give me a new journal, giving me a new beginning for my new beginning. As someone who’d been passionately journalling for 18 years, buying a new book every year, and recording my own life as it happened, I loved the idea of this new aspect to my writing life. I had no idea, then, just how wonderfully interesting and intense both journeys would be: being a mother, and journalling to my son about his life.

In the beginning, because I had to figure it out as I went along, I divided the book into objectively recording things (birth time, weight, etc.) – on the left hand side – and writing freely (which I do best) – on the right hand side. What can I say? I’m a Virgo, and we have to organize everything around us (in ways that make sense to us). As time went on, or maybe it was when I reached the end of the first book, I changed it to all free writing – so it was a mixture of recording his milestones, and my observations about, and opinions on, everything.  

Over time, I wrote about everything – special moments we experienced as a family, big events around the world, all the firsts, all the sicknesses (and meds!), and all the doctors’ names. When I went back to school, we had a day care mom (a mother of one of my pupils), and sometime later, we took him to a day care centre/pre-school. All his special events there were recorded, all his friends’ names, his teachers and their little quirks, his stories he came home with, his gymnastics classes, …… and all the time I was writing, writing, writing, fascinated by this little person I had given birth to.

A few things that stand out for me, when I think about this world of journalling to one’s children – when he was a baby, I’d even draw his little mouth and indicate where each new tooth had come out! When he was at primary school, he’d ask me to read little extracts of his young life to him. He always knew I was writing about his life, and he always knew he could ask me at any time to read to him from the journals, and we both knew that at some stage I’d give him the books I’d written about his life, from my perspective.

Another thing that stands out is that I’d always write the funny little things he said, so the book is filled with humour. However, because I wrote about everything, I had to include a few painful things. In October and November 2000, I had to write  about two very difficult matters – one profoundly more painful than the other. About a month after we’d told him he had to repeat Grade R, and was not moving on to primary school, along with his friends, we had to break the news to him of our divorce, something which was to change our lives in ways we could not have imagined, at that time. A theme that flows throughout my entries was that I loved him and was proud of him. I always wrote as though it might be the last thing I wrote to him, and I wanted him to have no doubt that he was deeply loved, I accepted him for whom he was, and I respected his choices (as he grew older).

When he was 18, it was time for me to hand over the journals. I couldn’t, and we agreed that I’d do so when he turned 21. On 21 Dec 2015, he turned 21. It took me a few days to read them all again, to write a final ‘handing over’ entry in the last book, and to wrap them as a Christmas gift. I had no idea I’d feel so emotional, parting with those journals. They’d always been mine, my writing, my stuff to look through whenever I wanted to, my very personal account of my child’s life, from my perspective. I cried when I re-read sections, I cried when I wrote the last entry, and I cried all the time that I was wrapping them.  I knew I’d blog about it, so I took a few pics of the books before wrapping them, to attach to the blog.  

I know I’m going to buy a new journal, to keep writing to him, in his adult life. He can have it one day, either when we agree it’s a good time, or when I pass on to the next realm.  

With my second child, I was well into the habit of journalling to my son, so I started writing to her long before she was even born. I started writing to my daughter, Summer, when I was just four weeks into the pregnancy, so I wrote to her throughout my pregnancy – a very special time in a woman’s life. Over the years, I followed all the same patterns I’d followed with my son’s diaries, writing about the milestones, the funny things she said, and of course, the difficult things like the divorce. In both children’s diaries, I documented our post-divorce living arrangements, always trying to keep things real, but age-appropriate. In fact, one of the reasons I decided to give them their diaries when they were much older, was that there were some tough sections to read.

What can I say? I’m still writing in my 17-year-old daughter’s latest journal, and I plan to buy a new one for my son. All I know is that writing is one of the ways I make sense of life, and recording life as it happens makes a lot of sense to me. I’m fascinated by the passage of time – and I’m always aware of how we waste time. Writing, for me,  makes me feel like I’m keeping track of what happened and when it happened, so that I can prove to myself I didn’t waste it. Silly? I find it immensely satisfying to read old journal entries, because we forget so many details. Sometimes I gain a healthy sense of perspective when I read old entries. You forget, when you’re at a low point, just how effective you are when you’re strong.

In parting, I’d like to say this: it’s never too late to start writing to your loved ones. Life has not blessed me with a financial legacy I can leave to my children – although, give me some time and I’ll sort that out, too – so my true legacy lies in other things: how I’ve lived my life, the values I’ve taught them, my original music, but most of all, the journals I wrote to them from when they were babies.

With love

Mom

Trudy