a not-so-happy birthday

I first met him 22 years ago on this day. Memories...they can hurt so badly. In a way I welcome the hurt. If I hurt, it means he was here. If I hurt, it means he was loved. If I hurt, it means I haven't forgotten him. I dread the day that the pain recedes. I was thinking about my sister the other day, on her birthday. While I still miss her in a nostalgic sort of way, it is nothing compared to the ripping pain that is with me every single day and especially on this day.

He weighed five pound, ten ounces. He was 21 inches long. He was beautiful. I remember taking off his little bitty socks to look at his feet. I remember holding them in my hand. I remember that magical smell that came off him. The smell that is equal part the sentient fragrance of brand-new human and that incomparable scent of baby. I had no idea, as I stood there and held that tiny little scrap of a human, just what he would come to mean to me...that I would come to love him as I love these two I gave birth to...nor did I realize the horror that love would suffer in less than 22 years.

I assumed he would be with me as I passed from this world. I assumed he would always be a part of my life. I assumed that on this day, August 21, 2009, I would be able to say, "Happy birthday, Blake. I love you".