Seven years ago today, I gave birth to my son. He was born seven weeks early because his heart defect was worsening in utero.
The hospital where he was born was not equipped to handle his heart problems, and our local Children’s Hospital was not equipped to have me deliver him there. So, while I was in recovery following my c-section, a transport team came and took him from me. I spent about 30 seconds looking at him before he was whisked away and taken across town.
In 2002, May 10th fell on a Friday. On Sunday, the hospital where I was recovering allowed me to leave so I could go see my son. It was Mother’s Day.
Mother’s Day was the first time I stroked my son’s soft hair, the first time I held his fingers in mine and the first time I ever held him in my arms. I have done those things thousands of times since then, but I will never forget our first Mother’s Day together.
This year, my special day and his birthday fell on he same day. We had breakfast in bed together, we both opened gifts and got cards.
Then, I stroked his hair, I held his hand and I held him in my arms. I did all the things I did with him seven years ago, but now he’s bigger and stronger and he’s shown that heart defect who’s boss. I have watched that sick, small child grow into a great kid.
I am writing this late, after he’s gone to bed. I don’t know if there will ever be a Mother’s Day as special as that first one we shared, but today came pretty darn close.
Happy Birthday, Buddy. Your Mom loves you lots.