Birthday

I'm having a birthday party in my head. Eighteen years ago my wife gave birth to our first child, a beautiful boy. If he had survived, we'd likely be celebrating more overtly, but he didn't. So, I'm having my party privately - much like I have for all his previous birthdays. I wouldn't consider myself consumed with grief or sadness today but I guess I am a little more reflective than usual. I suppose I could be more public but I don't think anyone really wants that.

Most (maybe all) of my coworkers are unaware of my first son. As far as they know, I have two boys - I talk about them often. Ask my coworkers if I am proud of my kids and I'm fairly sure they would say I am. I don't try to hide it. Ask them if I love my kids and again, I think they would say I do.

But I don't talk about my first son. I am proud of him, too. I love him, too. He changed me probably more than any other soul I've known. With his birth, I became a father. His death forced me to examine my relationship with God, to trust my faith. Losing him shaped how I would eventually parent his siblings. I take very little for granted anymore.

But I don't talk about my lost son with just anyone. It makes people uncomfortable and I don't know what the point of it would be. I'm not seeking any sympathy or, God forbid, pity and experience has taught me most of them wouldn't know what to say anyway. I'm a proud introvert and I'm perfectly satisfied to keep this party to myself. I will put this blog out there, for anyone to read without feeling obligated to respond.

Tonight, my family will gather together for dinner, just like any other night. At some point, my wife and I will probably clink our glasses  together and say a quiet "Happy Birthday" while our boys look on. They've witnessed this little celebration their entire lives. Sometimes, they join in., clinking their milk glasses. Sometimes, they just watch. Either way, I hope it shows them that we will never forget, we will never stop loving him or them.