Everyone who terrifies you is sixty-percent water.
And everyone you love is made of stardust, and I know sometimes
you cannot even breathe deeply, and
the night sky is no home, and
you have cried yourself to sleep enough times
that you are down to your last two percent, but
nothing is infinite,
not even loss.
You are made of the sea and the stars, and one day
you are going to find yourself again.
(Making the rounds on the internet in January 2013)
Today is Matthew's birthday; he would have been 25 years old. Last year I wrote about the shift that had occurred between the first birthday we spent without him (his 22nd) and his 24th. In that two year period, we moved from "marking" the day to the realization that we would, in fact, celebrate the day. This year I feel even more strongly that we celebrate the day that our beautiful first-born son came into our lives.
So tonight when I come home from facilitating the Grief Support Group I lead, my husband and I will have Thai food (Matthew's favorite), look at photos, perhaps watch a movie he loved, and most of all talk about our amazing son. We are grateful beyond belief that he chose us to be his parents, and only wish he was still here. For now our memories and love will have to sustain us. But I also know that at night when I look up into the vast space above us and wonder where he is, I have to believe that he and all of those who have passed before us are out there amongst the stars having a grand adventure. We love you, Matthew.