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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