Today is my son’s birthday. He would have been twenty-seven years old. And for some reason I keep replaying the intricate details of his birth in my mind.
I spent the evening of the 26th watching Yentl on VHS with my husband and sister. We had to pause every three to five minutes for my contractions, which explains why I have very little recollection of the movie in general. Around midnight, I told my sister that I didn’t think I would be able to sleep if the contractions didn’t stop. Then my water broke. Things progressed pretty quickly after that because he was born a little after four in the morning.
I was totally amazed at the whole birthing process. I couldn’t believe that my body was capable of such a feat. I also couldn’t believe how much I was in love with my new baby. I wouldn’t let the nurses take him that night so I could sleep. I wanted him with me.
Twenty-seven years later I still just want him with me.
Our goal today has been to celebrate his life by doing things he would have enjoyed. So far, we have gone to brunch and played mini-golf. We’ve shared memories and laughed a lot. But there has also been tears. I think there will always be tears. But all in all the type of day I think he would have enjoyed.
Until next time . . .