So. His birthday came and went with little fanfare. Last year, last year it was a Big Deal. I got cards. I got letters. People remembered. This year. Not so much.
Now, I DO understand. And there were people that did remember. But compare them to the numbers of last year and it is hard not to feel slighted. Not that I am counting but last year we probably got 20 some cards, this year we got 3. And the 3 were from people you wouldn't even expect to send one.
I have to remind myself that he is *my* son. Not theirs. It is up to me to remember him. If he was alive, it would be our family's deal and not anyone elses. So I cannot get upset when a friend asks me to watch her dog that day or when friends casually invite us out for drinks.
But, that day. His birthday. He should be 2! Two!!! He should be holding up two fingers, mouth full of cake and saying "Imtwo!" all muffled like. Instead, Hub and I sat out on the deck of the condo we were staying in and drank beer and each ate a cupcake and talked. And talked. The could've and should've and would've. We went through them all. The guilt. The heartache...and the happy stuff.
Hours before we were in the pool with our 6 month old daughter. We were talking about what swimming would be like when she is older and imagining the "daddy! Watch me!" as she jumped off the side of the pool. Just them, a family of 3 walked in the door. A dad and his daughter, who was about 6, jumped in the pool together. The dad was teaching her how to swim, had her laughing so hard she could barely stay afloat. It was a nice scene, it was nice to look at a family and know that is our future. For so long, we would see parents and a little boy and look at them and know that should have been our future. It was a nice little gift on a hard day.