Happy Birthday, Jack and Sam.
My dear friends and readers, beware. Here there be mush. Lots of it. Stop now if you don’t want to listen to a not-so-new-anymore mom’s ramblings about how much her offspring means to her.
Okay, you have been warned. Here it is:
I have two eyes with which I see the world, and in my eyes there are two lights, and they are Sam and Jack.
Born 5 lbs, 14 ounces, you were the big twin, and the one with the big voice. You seemed to know that the time of safety was already behind you when you were born, and you howled for its loss. You’ve become our quiet twin now, but whatever your disease took, it did not diminish your sweetness, the overflowing love you give to those around you. It didn’t take away the quiet awe and curiosity with which you explore your world. It didn’t take away that intensity of purpose that you had right from your first breath. You gave me my first smile, and when you did, I was born into a new life where I learned what unconditional love is capable of, and how to fight like hell. Thank you for being here, for being you, my brave survivor.
Born 5 lbs, 7 ounces, you were the smallest, quietest creature I’d ever laid eyes on. I would bawl whenever I saw your impossibly small face peering out at me in the NICU, my little bird. Back then, I felt it was strange, to worry so much over a person I didn’t even know. And now, you are larger than life- a giant sized personality I could never do without. You pour sunshine into every one of our days with your shrieks of happiness, your whole-body smiles, and your zeal for life and motion. You were the first one to name me “Mama” and when you say that word sleepily as you rise to meet the day, it is like a compass to me in the shifting storm. Thanks for that, Sam. Thank you for being here, for being you, my intrepid explorer.
I hope the coming year will see a little more sleep for all of us, and a little less trauma. But, believe me, I’d put up with all that this past year has dished out, and more, for these two guys.