2 minute read
On your birthday today…
It’s Monday, March 2, your birthday. Oh my gosh, you’re twenty-eight today. I’m sitting here, early morning, outside in the dark, remembering you, my beautiful boy.
You’ll always be my beautiful boy. Though I know you’re older now, larger than life.
Far away.
Sometimes you cover the sky with gray pillowy clouds — because you know how I love a soft gray sky.
Or not so far away.
Sometimes speaking in an owl’s voice, waking me in the still dark morning to say goodnight.
Sometimes you stay awake, turn into a tiny titmouse, and chatter on about your favorite puppy, Chi-hua-hua. Chi-hua-hua…
Then you make yourself into a chickadee, twig-hopping, repeating, Swing set. Swing set. Swing set…
I smile at you as I follow you from branch to branch. Yes, yes, I do remember that swing set, the one with the purple seats.
Just before you leave again, just before sunrise, you spy me with your little vireo eye, like the eye of a husky dog, your second favorite kind of puppy, and, in a soft chortling voice, you sing to me. I love the melody but can’t make out the lyrics.
I tell you I love you.
And you sing again, Love you tooo! Love you tooo! Then flutter your wings, shake off the morning dew, and fly away.
And I hear you saying, See you tomorrow! Okay? See you tomorrow! Okay?
Okay. See you tomorrow.
The sky is pale blue now. The sun is peeking through the trees; its reflection on the pool’s glassy surface is blinding me. The neighbor is cooking something; the smell of garlic is making me hungry. A cardinal is pinging. A woodpecker is knocking. A mourning dove is asking, Who who who…
What, Sammy? What did you say?
I’ll be near, Mommy, even when I’m far away. Okay?
Yes. Okay. And I’ll be here waiting, watching, listening for you, my beautiful boy, my pillowy gray sky, my owl, my tiny bird…
Please share willower.org with someone you know who may also be trying to rewrite their life after . . .
Willower.org 
You must be logged in to post a comment.