Traveling Dog Lady: A letter to my great-niece

Friday, March 16, 2012

A letter to my great-niece

Dearest Bianca,

I will never forget the day you were born.  I was dealing with an oil tank leak, men in hazmat suits with testing equipment and loose talk about "if there's just one dead fish" (in the lake, I mean) and the uncertainty of just whether or not insurance would cover all of this.  If a bridge were available, I was thinking, I might just take that jump.  It was the day from hell, and then, I heard a little "bleeep" on my iPhone, buried somewhere in the depths of my Brighton pocketbook (your mom would like that), having shoved it down, down, down in the hopes that maybe, just maybe I wouldn't have to use it one more time today.  Who would be sending me a text message at 4:30 on a Friday, on "The Friday From Hell, 2012"?  Why, your mother, of course, because... well... [catch in my throat] I asked her to tell me when you were born.  Having forgotten all of my sanity at some point in the middle of the night during the wee-est hours of March 16, 2012, I plumb forgot the c-section was scheduled for that morning.  What a great way to end the day, with my brother's 2nd granddaughter being born!  I know he's smiling down from heaven and watching over you and your big sister and your Mommy at all times.  He's watching over all of us all the time, and he loves you so much.  Never forget that your grand-dad loves you, with all his heart and soul.  You also happen to be born the day before St. Patrick's Day, and you ARE part Irish, in case you ever want to know, your great-great grandmother Marguerite Walsh Mueller's parents were born in Tipperary, Ireland.  So anyway, you were born the day before St. Patrick's Day, my friend Mary's birthday.  Mary was 100% Irish and born on the day.  Well, she, too is up there smiling down from heaven, if there is such a thing, and chuckling to herself in her own Irish-dimpled way, that you would be the one to cover St. Patty's Day celebrations from now on, and your middle name happens to be Mary (after your great-grandmother, we assume).  By the way, the insurance company called:  we're covered.  I don't even know you yet, but love you already.

Love,
Aunty

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