Like most moms (and dads, of course) I never thought to prepare myself for what it would feel like to lose a child.

I’m not talking about losing him in the mall or losing him in a crowd; I mean to lose him forever.

We were so immersed in the business of living that it never occurred to me that anything life threatening might happen to my Angel Boy.

Health and fitness has always been a priority.

I made his baby food, did all the recommended baby exercises, and as soon as he could, we walked every day; no sitting in front of a television for us…

This was a typical school day at Casa de Enchanted Seashells:

I woke up at 6:15 a.m. to make a hot and nutritious breakfast for my little guy. I’d wake him at 6:30 with a kiss and and a song —  “New day, time to wake up!”  At 7:30, we’d leave the house to walk our dog for about thirty minutes, chat about the day, and practice spelling or math as we made our way to his school for the first bell at 8:00.

I figured if I did everything in my power to build a healthy and strong human, he’d be that way forever.

Do I even need to state the obvious that he was (is) my entire world? 

I never thought of how dreadfully painful it must be to look at the calendar every year and know that your child’s birthday — the date of his birth–is approaching and all you have is a memory.

I  honestly can’t imagine the pain.

How does anyone survive that kind of loss?

At 9:52 on March 23, 1981, my most amazing boy child was born.

Since then, I’ve cherished every breath he inhales as much as the first one.

April 29, 2014 might have been the date of his last breath.

It doesn’t matter where I am; even when I’m asleep — in my dreams, I’m transported back to the hospital.

That feeling of helplessness — In the surgical waiting room and then (with DIL)  the ten days of twenty-four hour round-the-clock bedside vigil.

For vigil it what it was…

…not taking one single deep breath for months, actually.

On that day, that dark day, those dark days, none of us were sure we’d be celebrating anything ever again.

My mind replays that what if tape all the time, even though the nightmare is over. Really over.

Only now, almost a year later, I think I can finally

exhale.

That’s why this birthday is a very happy one.

He runs, he bikes, he camps, he hikes, he surfs.

He EATS. He BREATHES.

Life. Is. Good. 

(My heart goes out to families who don’t make it to the other side. For me, the door opened just a crack, and I experienced a mere glimpse into that world, and it’s impossible to imagine being able to ever smile again.)

♥ ♥ ♥ On a happier note, what does an ‪#‎emptynest‬ mom do when she can’t be there in person to bake her Angel Boy’s birthday cake?

She finds a a vegan bakery in New Jersey, Bear Hug Bakery, and commissions a cake to be delivered to his office today at ‪#‎Rutgers‬.

One layer of vanilla cake, one layer of chocolate, raspberry cream filling, and covered in ganache. YUM!!!

Mom Tip #276…it’s never too late to embarrass your child.

Happy 34th Birthday, Angel Boy!!

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POSTS ABOUT THE SURGERY:

1. That Dreaded Call at 3:00 A.M.

https://enchantedseashells.com/2014/05/01/that-dreaded-call-at-300-a-m/

2. Time To Exhale

https://enchantedseashells.com/2014/05/06/time-to-exhale-hospital-update/

3. Full Circle From Hell to Happiness

https://enchantedseashells.com/2014/05/10/full-circle-from-hell-to-happiness/

4. What Does a Cosmo, the Trauma, Unit, and Mother’s Day Have in Common

https://enchantedseashells.com/2014/05/11/what-does-a-cosmo-the-trauma-unit-and-mothers-day-have-in-common/

 

 

 

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