Tonight our 5 year old was discussing Wyatt with my husband. When he told her that Wyatt is now 11 years old I paused for a minute. I was smack in the middle of the 5:20 throwing together of lemon poppy seed blueberry pancakes and time stopped for the briefest of seconds. Eleven years just didn't sound right but a quick deduction confirmed that number. Everything after a year seems farther away, but eleven years seems an eternity. Eleven years ago I couldn't even begin to visualize this self. I could barely see through my own tears. My heart was so broken I feared it would never heal and I would never know happiness again. I believed sadness would always hang over me like a dark cloud blocking out the sun. Because dark clouds were all I saw for a long time after Wyatt was born. Dark clouds, pregnant bellies and newborn babes.
Eleven years later I find myself smiling in the sunshine, holding my sweet son's memory close to my heart. He has a special broken place inside that will never fully heal. Wyatt's cupcakes are ready for tomorrow, the weather is promising to be quite the opposite from the day of his birth - sunny and warm. The picnic is planned and as I learn every year, whether or not I'm ready for it, it will happen. We will take Wyatt a handful of purple irises from the shadow of his new little willow tree and maybe a few daffodils from the shadow of Eli's tree. It's my one day to let down all those defenses that I keep up almost every other day of the year. Tomorrow is Wyatt's.
Happy 11th Birthday, my son. Each year you grow farther away from my memory and farther away from my experience. I wouldn't have the slightest clue what to do with an eleven year old boy, but I'd give just about anything to figure it out. We miss you so.
