December 2


Today is her birthday. 

 I wish I was there to pull back the covers from her sleepy head and kiss her tired cheeks and neck good morning. I'd whisper a "happy birthday" before the day even began. 

 It makes me smile to think of her enjoying her birthday, surrounded by her kids, maybe a family visit or well-wishes, too. And lots of friends wishing her a happy day. 

 It's Sunday, so I hope she sleeps in. I'd love to sleep in with her and wake to a lazy day full of stuff like a late breakfast, some sports on tv, maybe a brisk walk around the neighborhood or to the park and a hurry-home jaunt home to brace ourselves from the cold with hot chocolate. 

 I'd love to hold her on the couch with me, sit her on my lap, enjoy her lazy-day-crazy hair and just be. 

 All of this could have been. She could have been mine. Our children could cuddle with us, piled on haphazardly in perfect unity, love, and devotion. My heart races when I think of us like that. My mind can scarcely contain itself. We could have been the perfect family. 

 It's her birthday and I want to touch her skin, caress her, move her body close to mine, and then my arms would swallow her with perfect security. I want her to know she's mine, and I won't go anywhere. I want to spend this day with her and do everything she loves. I'll even contemplate taking a nap with her if she wants. 

 When the day is spent and we've had our fun, we'll lay together on the bed and stare at the texture of the ceiling and talk about all the birthdays we've spent together and how the kids are growing so fast and I'll turn and look at her and she'll see it. She'll see the love I have for her leaking from my eyes. 

 Today is her birthday. I wish I was there with her. I wish she had never left my life. I wish I was holding her hand as she falls asleep tonight. 

 Happy birthday, sweet girl. 

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