My boy-child

Easter 2008, Caleb at 2 weeks old

Four years ago, you made your entrance in a slam-bam-thank-you-Ma'am birth that took my breath away with it's suddenness and beauty. You, perfect skin, blond little faux hawk hair, that look of consternation you wore as a newborn. My one and only son, the child for whom I prayed as Hannah did Samuel, yet my arms held lock-tight where her's gave way in obedience. My favorite boy in the whole world - I have whispered this line of love into your ear from the time it was tiny as a seashell. You were never overshadowed by the cancer diagnosed when you were six weeks old. You shone like a star in the dark night of that 2008 year that was filled with suffering, bad news, and separation.

I remember handing you to my mother, your grandma, in the hour before I swallowed my radioactive iodine pill, remember the tears stinging as I ached to nurse you and longed to hold you over those two long weeks I didn't see you at all. What if you didn't remember? What if the powerful bond we'd shared since your birth was shattered by the distance and time when Mama wasn't there to comfort you?

You are a boy now, not a baby any longer. My last baby grown tall and lean, strong and funny. I feed you cookies and chocolates to replace the year of breastmilk that you missed out on. You shower me with your kisses and my heart is soothed. You didn't forget. You are still my son.  I read of Samuel, the story of Isaac at the alter on the mount, and I can't do this. I had to lay you aside for those weeks of radiation. I can't imagine ever putting you down again.

Happy 4th birthday, my sweet Caleb! You are loved more than you may ever know.