March 15 1999. Thirteen years ago my life changed forever.
For the better I must add. My beautiful son came into my life. Fifteen days
early. Then decided to turn back around. So I had to have an emergency
C-section to get him to come out into the world. I came out of my daze once I
heard him cry. They brought him up to me so I could see his face. We looked at
each other. His eyes wide open. Violet
eyes. Intense. Looking right at me and through me. And then they took him. I collapsed back into
my state of Neverland. My husband bonding with him first while I recovered.
Some hours later, I pulled out the medicines that were
making me drowsy. Demanding to have my baby with me. I could hear his lonely
cries. I could feel his cries. They told me I should rest. I told them I wanted
my son. They brought him to me. Once again our eyes locked. He settled into my
arms. Then all the bravado I had for wanting my son vanished as I looked down
at his head full of dark swirls of hair and the enormity of becoming a mother
hit me. I was terrified. I realised all at once that I had no idea what being a
mother meant.
I thought about the dream my husband had had about our son before
we knew we were having a son. An old soul he said when he woke up. A dark star
that has been waiting a long time to come back. I felt his dream when I looked
into the violet eyes of my son. I knew he was an old soul. I was afraid I would
not know what to do with him. He seemed wizened beyond his age from the moment
he came out.
Fast forward thirteen years through six months of a baby
projectile vomiting forcing me to make the decision to be at home with my son.
Not going back to work. Knowing I had to raise him in his formative years.
Prepare him for his future and throwing up was his way of letting me know he
needed me. Allowing me to take several years to reacquaint myself with me while
blossoming into a nurturing mother. Replacing the fear with love and abundance
and nature.
Through three broken arms. A broken finger. Allergies. And
allergy related asthma. Through magic camps. Archery. Swimming. Boy’s Brigade.
Rock Climbing. Fencing. Tennis. Little League baseball. Animation. Computer
crazy sometimes. Hurt feelings. Rejection. Acceptance. Through those discerning
looks. Through good grades and sometimes, but not often, bad grades in school. I
look at my son and I am proud. Proud of my son straddling boyhood and manhood
now as he enters his teen years. Proud of who he is – compassionate, loving,
caring, empathetic, kind, challenging, giving, annoying, forgiving. Proud of
who he is becoming. Because he is everything I imagined he would be and more.
Happy Birthday to my beautiful son, on the inside and outside.
May your teenage years bring you the joy you deserve. May you be strong enough
to withstand the temptations that will try to pull you into the darkness and
keep you there. May you always know there is not only light at the end of the
tunnel, the light is always there if you believe and seek. May you know you are
loved because you are love. May you continue to grow and experience and not be
afraid to fall because falling helps you to see you have the strength and
endurance to start all over again. Stronger. Better. Empathetic. Compassionate.
To my son. My teacher. My student. My first born. May you
always know and find love, light, peace and your way, whichever way suits you.
As you came into the world on your own terms – ready early to come then changed
your mind. Coming on the Ides of March as Caesar came into the world, remember you
are meant to be special. Born on the same day as your paternal grandmother
giving her a gift always on her birthday. Know you are a gift to yourself, to
your family, and to the world.
Happy thirteenth birthday son. With love, gratitude and joy.
Your mother now and forevermore.
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