5 Years

5 years. Somehow, I find myself here, 5 years later, wondering what the hell I can say to honor you. I don't have new memories of you to share, new accomplishments of yours to celebrate, or new dreams I have for your future. The grief is much more subtle now, stowed away and mostly contained until a wayward butterfly swoops into the yard unexpectedly, flittering around the bushes, whispering memories of you in my heart, or when the Calla Lillies your grandma brought me 3 years ago to mark your birth, begin to sprout, and I wait, each year to see if they will blossom into a flower, which they stubbornly will not...I show them to your little brother, and this year we made a daily pilgramage to them, willing them, every morning, with soft strokes, to make a flower, to grow for baby Caleb, to grow for you. But nothing. Except that, everyday, your brother, born out of my love for you, leans down and so gently fingers those tiny plants, asking them to create something as simple and yet amazing as a bloom, for you. And when he does, he says your name. He says, 'Grow, grow, grow, little plants, make a flower for baby Caleb.' Standing beside him, hearing him wish things for you, watching him grow, holding him tight at the end of each night, asking him what he will dream of so that I can tell him I will dream the same things too, I see you, I see your flower, blooming before my eyes, within the brother you never knew but who carries you forward, effortlessly. You live Caleb. In my heart, in your little brother, in our lives. There are no words, but there is you. You will always be here. 5 years,