Nine. He'd be nine years old today. It's the 6th birthday that we've celebrated without him. I'll make his special cake and take his special book out to read to him. I'll have an ugly cry and sob until I gag. It's days like today when it hits me once again just how much we're missing out on. How much we lost when he left. I'll dwell on it for a bit but then I'll pick myself up and dust myself off. I'll smile. I'll laugh. I'll celebrate. I refuse to spend his birthday in a puddle of tears. I do not need nor do I want words of sympathy today. Though, I appreciate the sentiment, I want nothing to do with wishes of comfort. This is a happy day!
My biggest fear as a bereaved mother is that my child will be forgotten. Could there be a better way to avoid that than celebrating his life? So tell me an anecdote you remember about him. Wish him a happy birthday. Think of him, not of me. I miss him, yes. Always. That's a given. But today of all days let's celebrate his life not mourn his death.
