Birthday #9

Yep. My boy is 9 years old today. And it's been 9 months since his daddy died.

I know Justin struggles with being "different," that he doesn't have a daddy alive as his friends. It's not fair--every boy needs a daddy. It's frustrating to me that Justin notices that he's "different" because of course I would shelter him, hold him in my arms, and give him a piggyback ride all through life if I could--just to try to heal his wound. But I can't. I hate that. I thought moms were supposed to be able to put band aids on anything, to fix anything. Apparently not.

This said, his birthday is the last of all of ours--in terms of the last "first" birthday for all of us. And so I write what Justin means to me today, on this, his last-first birthday, his #9.

Justin,

You were so desired for our family. Daddy and I wanted you to join our family so much. However, you came sooner than we had expected--we expected you a few months later than you arrived. But it was all ok. After 2 1/2 months of bedrest and some scary moments, you arrived safe and sound. I will never forget when I told your daddy that you would be joining our family. I wrapped up in a box the test that confirmed your arrival. Your daddy thought I had put a medical school acceptance letter in the box. He was quite shocked at the contents of the box--this wasn't the news he had anticipated! I remember sitting on the couch, curled up in his arms as the idea that he was going to be a daddy set in. He was pretty stunned. But after the initial shock wore off, he was excited. He was scared to be a daddy--scared that his influence would have to influence you too, that he now was responsible for your growth and maturity. But I wasn't scared. I watched his love grow for me, and I knew his heart would expand and make room for you too. And that it did.

Oh, how he loved to watch you as a baby! I remember him running out to the store to buy you a rattle. He would spend hours sitting on the floor with you and that rattle, shaking it above your face for your little eyes to be fixed upon. The yellow one, with the little balls in it? Your brothers all loved that rattle too. It was one of the first things you each learned to hold in your tight, chubby little grasps.

He loved to feed you bottles, to wrap you in a blanket and walk you around our apartments. He loved making you smile. He loved watching all your new discoveries as you grew. He loved wrestling with you and Spencer as you grew. He loved tossing you in the air and watching the wind take your breath away. He loved your laughter. You were his little buddy. And it was all you for the first 5 years of your life.

We named your middle name after your daddy. I find it interesting--and fitting--that you are the most like your daddy of all your brothers (the jury is still out on Carson, but I suspect that you will be the most like him). You are quiet, you are brilliant, you have a quiet sensitivity to others. You don't wear your emotions on your sleeve. You have a desire to do what is right. You want others to do what is right too. You get embarrassed easily, you don't like us to tell you "I love you" or hug and kiss you in front of others outside our family. You like to look strong--and you are strong. You are a defender, a caretaker, an ideal oldest child and brother.

I am so grateful Heavenly Father sent you to me. I have needed you more than you will ever know, and I know you were sent at just the right time in my life. Your brothers look up to you. They watch you like a hawk. You know this and you see the great responsibilty you have as being the one who will help me teach your brothers about who your daddy really was (and is). I know that your daddy can be with you any time you need him, that when you talk to him, he listens. I know this. I know you will continue to grow and progress and your daddy will be pleased with you. He loves you, son. I love you. Never, ever forget that.

Hugs and Kisses,
Your Mommy