Happy 5th birthday. I'm sure there should be an exclamation point after that, but Momma just can't muster that level of enthusiasm today. Just uttering or typing that phrase brings tears to my eyes, thinking about everything we are missing. And how much I miss you.
Peanut. My first born son. The child who opened my heart and eyes to selfless love. Momma love. The child who, even (or maybe especially?) in death, has taught me to live with joy, grace and forgiveness even when anger and despair felt like the easier, more justified options. My child.
Five years ago it was a hot September Saturday. Summer was enjoying its finally hurrah for the year, and Momma wasn't expecting you to arrive until September 25 so a pedicure and late lunch were on the agenda. But early morning cramps had me wondering...could these be contractions? And by early afternoon Momma and Dadda were rushing to the hospital, praying we made it in time as we hit every single red light. We did, and you were born just a few hours later. As the delivery nurse so appropriately said, just a tiny little Peanut.
Peanut, I wish I could see the 5 year-old version of you, blowing out five candles on a giant chocolate cake, tossing a football with your friends in the backyard and wrestling with the dog. While I can picture this image in my mind, my heart and hands long to reach out an touch your long, graceful fingers. To gaze into those deep blue eyes again, and give you Eskimo kisses.
Happy birthday in Heaven, Peanut. Here on Earth we will celebrate your birthday, your life, your Peanut Effect, your love and...well...you. My amazing son. I love you so very, very much. How much? Come on, silly, you know! To the moon - and back.