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Libby1Dear Libby,

You have been pulling this world’s air into those miniature bellows of yours for only 24 hours. Your eyes, blinking and wise, won’t be able to read these words for years. But your mormor has so much to say to you that words pour over the edges like water from a sluicing pan.  The worthless stuff will wash away. Maybe a little gold will settle around the edges.

You were only the size of a blueberry when your mama and daddy told your grandparents you were on your way. Your daddy’s fine parents will have their own tale to tell of discovery.

As for your mama’s mama, she cried. You’ll have learned by now that she is a frequent crier when she is very, very happy. She doesn’t get mileage from it either – just a headache. A happy one. She and your mama’s daddy laughed too on that bright shining Friday evening in late October. They wanted to tell everyone about your journey but they could only tell God.

He already knew.

Eagerness fell like the leaves and waiting came with winter. The trees budded and flowers blossomed and you were all elbows and knees in your mama’s womb. The North Pole tipped towards the sun at the solstice and the anticipation of your coming loomed large and long.

Loving hands poured down upon your parents things to warm, comfort, teach you. A magical tree bloomed from white paint in your nursery. A midwife skilled in the ways of coaxing life told your mama what you knew to do and how you might do it.

The date circled on the calendar was a Never Mind – just an estimate that’s all. Nobody told you to come that day.

But Somebody gave you a push. And your mama, she helped, and with a whoop and a holler you slid into the world yesterday and amazed us all.

And your mama and daddy caused tears again when they named you. Elizabeth for your mama and her mother’s mother’s mother. Marjorie for your great- grandmother’s daughter. Susek for your daddy’s kin.

 Libby for your very own self.

The doctor said this afternoon that you are a strong girl, Miss Libby. We think you are beautiful, too. But strong beats pretty in this world and the next. Strength of soul, strength of character, strength of body – that’s what’s been prayed for you, Lil’ B.

Mormor means “mother’s mother” in the language of your mama’s great-grandparents. She’s a wordy one, your mormor.

But when it comes to you, Elizabeth Marjorie? Your mormor is hurrying to meet you tomorrow, and when she puts her face to yours there will be no words.

Only love. Now and always.