Those Things Money Can't Buy

When my journey on earth is through, and I stand at the gate in the sky
Thinking of those days we once knew, those things money can't buy
Those things money can't buy are treasures I'll cherish till I die
Your arms, your smile, and your sigh, those things money can't buy

--“Those Things Money Can’t Buy,” Hank Thompson

Dear Thi,

Sometimes when I watch your brother Luc sleep, I marvel at how much he has grown over the past 2.5 years. He is a petite one and has always measured toward the shorter, lighter end of the growth chart, and yet his limbs have gotten longer, and he could no longer nestle completely in the crook of my arms. His hands and feet twitch as he dreams of running, jumping, laughing—all skills unknown to him but a few years ago. 

I watch him grow, dear Thi, and I can’t help but think of you, how old you would’ve been, and what your personality would've been like. You were arrested in growth, and I’ll only remember you one way, my first and last glimpse of you on the night you were born. Cold, hunger, fear—to tackle life means to take on all that it has to offer, the entire gamut of good and bad experiences. You were brought to life but then taken from it, and so you won’t know of all the terrible things that could transpire in the course of a lifetime and especially during times like war and famine. I’d like to think you knew nothing but warmth and love and comfort; I tell myself that whenever I catch myself too deep with regret that you are not here with us now. But then neither will you experience all the joys and thrills of the human experience, all the things that money can’t buy. The feel of the sun’s warmth. The smell of flowers. The marvel of a rainbow. The succulent tastes of your favorite foods. Music filling your ears and uplifting your soul. You won’t go through the pain of a broken heart, but neither will you feel the first flutters of falling in love.

Your father and I are quite fortunate; our families took us by immigration out of an impoverished land with limited opportunities for growth and prosperity. We’ve been hired into careers that allow us to support our family. We bought a house before the current real-estate craze of million-dollar homes. We were blessed with a son, and he has never known the feeling of begging for an apple on an impoverished island, or being bullied by classmates whose parents had more influential leverage with the teachers. And yet for all our comforts and financial security, I can’t help but long for those little moments that could have been, all the things that money can’t buy. The slip of your warm hands in mine, or to feel them clumsily grope for me as you seek comfort in the dark. Seeing joy in your eyes as you experience something wonderful for the first time. Memorizing your visage and your voice, hearing you progress in your wisdom. 

Seven months, my girl. Mama loves you, misses you, and thinks of you every single day. I hope you are doing well, wherever you are.