My twins would be twelve today.
I live just outside eternity. My mother heart knows that my children are just out of my reach, through a veil. There, in the safety of that world, they grow and they play without any of the risks and suffering of this side. In that world, they know my dad and other loved ones I lost a long time ago. In that world, they are fully healthy, whole and loved.
If it had been up to me, they’d be on this side, blue eyes and dark blonde hair, full of jokes and witty thoughts. If I got to choose, they would be wrestling for possession of the Wii remote, eating too much cereal, outgrowing shoes at an absurd rate.
I’d be baking an imperfect cake today, and they would make fun of it a little, but not too much, because they wouldn’t want to hurt my feelings.
If I got to pick, they’d be climbing in my bed at night, smelling like sweat and boy-feet, wrapping long arms around me and telling me about their days. “Go to bed,” I would tell them, sternly, because I would see them again in the morning and this contact would not be all I ever had.
Even knowing they live in perfection, I’d choose this side, where they would sit across from me, disappointed and confused by the darkness in people. I’d explain learning to love broken people, even as they held back tears because they are big now, too big to cry about being rejected. I’d cradle their fuzzy summer haircutted-heads and ache that I couldn’t keep them from sorrow. Still, I’d pick this side.
They will never know a broken bone, a broken heart, a bee sting or a fall from grace. I’m grateful for that. But a mama will always wish her baby was in her arms.
Happy birthday, boys. You will always be loved.