He was on my mind all day, despite the busy schedule of chime choir and cantata rehearsals. Thirty-one years ago today Michael first came bawling into the world, all red faced and jaundiced. Twenty-one years ago, he slipped quietly out of it, having left his mark in my heart.
Clearly I remember his smiling round face, his exuberance, his joy and enthusiasm for just about everything and everyone. He was every inch a rough and tumble boy yet tenderhearted towards those having a hard time. He loved dogs and collected rocks and tried his best to keep up with his brothers despite the extra weight the medicine he took added to his frame.
I sometimes wonder what he would have been like as a man. Each of my children is unique, distinctive, following their own path. It is difficult to imagine Michael as a grown man.
Would he, like Drew, have been comfortable with high school and have lots of good friends, love playing soccer, join the robotics team, be good at photography?
Would he, like Kiel, have joined a church? (How appropriate that Kiel did so this year on Michael's birthday). Would he love to work with young children, be passionate about soccer, have tons of friends like Kiel?
Would he, like Mark, have continued to struggle with health issues that impact jobs and careers? Would he have excelled in music as Mark does, be a competent sales person, be able to take anything apart and put it back together again fixed, be an amazing artist, a great cook?
Would he, like DJ, have graduated from college and found his life's calling and also his life's passion and followed them both? Would he lead a Boy Scout troop, be tenderhearted and caring when others do not even see needs, write well, and love horses as DJ does?
Would he have married and had children?
I do not know the answers to those questions. I do know that I love him as much now as I did then, that my memory of him has not faded over time, that I sometimes take out the photo albums and gaze hungrily at him doing all sorts of activities and antics. And I know that I will see him again when I get to heaven.
Today though, I simply wish him a Happy Birthday and celebrate his special day by helping young boys who need a little something extra. They are easy to find but I am sure they will never realize their gain is in honor of my son. And that's OK. It is enough that I know. It is enough that I remember.
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2 comments:
OK, I'm crying at the circ desk! I can't imagine losing a child--with a four year old and another one on the way, these thoughts hit harder than when one is childless. The strength you have shown in your life (even just what I know through your friends here and through your blog) is amazing and inspiring. You're in my thoughts.
I really need to remember not to even peek at your blog unless I have plenty of time to process it emotionally before I have to go somewhere. Your life story never ceases to amaze me. And what amazes me even more is the grace with which you keep moving forward through it. In Advent we are frequently reminded of the one who will come to make our paths straight and of the time when the mountains will be brought low and the valleys filled in. When I hear those metaphors, I say, "But I love hills, valleys, and windy roads!" Then I realize how easy I've had it. If my road were as bumpy and treacherous as yours has often been, I would know exactly what the Scriptures meant and rejoice. May you never stop growing in confidence and hope in the one through whom our victory is assured.
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