Today is my son's birthday. He is one and we have yet to meet. I have spent the past few weeks trying to figure out how to commemorate this day. How to celebrate someone while mourning their absence. My father suggested having a small party as a family with a place set for Oaks. We could take pictures to show him that we are here, anticipating his arrival. I love this idea.
Another friend suggested that our family plant an oak tree. A symbolic gesture to mark the day. I really love this idea as well.
And yet somehow, without intention, I find myself alone today. My kids left just yesterday for the mountains with their grandma. My usually boisterous home is silent. And somehow this feels right. A day of quiet vigil, watching and waiting for the celebration to come.
There's a decent chance that not only will there be no festivities for my little one today, but that his day will pass by much like any other.
This is the last time. Never, ever again will this day go by without great fanfare. I promise.
But for today, it will consist of only a couple of letters. Love letters from strangers. Detailed accounts from your mom and dad of how you were loved before you were known. How you were deeply wanted and fervently prayed for before you first gulped in the air of this world.
Happy birthday, little love. Your party will wait on you.
{image via mat.}
