No cemetary, no grave, no hilltop or ocean to call your own. Just a shelf in my bedroom and, today, a table front in the entryway, that say you were here.
There is always a lull in the days before this day. Your sister's birthday falls a mere 3 days before yours and so the weeks before are filled with plans for parties, very important discussions of what kind of cake and what special meal will make her day feel uniquely hers and fill her with all things a young lady should have on the day that marks her entry into this life she has lived.
And we celebrate her.
And then the quiet. Eventhough it is a mere 72 hours later, even today, as I saw the date, August 31, I still found myself stunned.
It's tomorrow, I say to myself. A quick glance at my cell and I see that it is the 31st, and still I am somehow stunned. It's tomorrow.
And now it's today.
Today marks the beginning of another year I will live without you. Today marks the end of the fourth year that I have lived without you.
Today marks the fourth year that you have not lived the life you should have had.
Today marks the one. thousand. four. hundred. sixty. days. that I have missed you and the life you should have had. The life we should have spent, together.
No parties, no cake, no meal of all your favorite things, I can't give you any of those things. There is no way to to show you how unique you are or how you changed our world. How you continue to change our world. There is just the quiet.
There is just Today.
Today I will light a candle, I will trace my fingers over your name on the plate that reads, "Tiny fingers hold onto me, in my heart you will always be", and I will marvel over how you and your numbered days changed me forever.
Today I will stop. Today I will hurt. Today I will ache. Today I will cry. Today I will miss you.
And in that way, today will not be like any other day.
Except that
Today
is your day.
I love you baby boy. I love you Caleb.
