5:18am.
"A robin bird woke me up, Mama. Actually, it was a cardinal. I speak bird. I'm hungry."
Left dumbfounded, I rubbed my eyes and quietly got out of bed. Mads was just snuggling back into her spot on the couch to join her brother by the time I got to the big room.
"Mom, can you make me 'Snug as a bug in a rug'?" Jimmy asked, still rubbing the wake-up out of his eyes. "Sure, buddy," I respond, smiling.
...
I have tried to make sure my children really know you in their daily lives, even though they insist they met you during their time in Heaven, before you sent them down to me. This lovely thought is a notion they came up with totally on their own, so we roll with it. If it's the way things work, it gives me comfort and peace and a big ol' smile to my face - like I was let in on a secret that people live their whole lives searching for, never really knowing the answer.
It's the little things like: "Snug as a bug in a rug," or knowing that Cardinal birds are signs from Gee Gee, that make you a part of their lives. I have carried all of the little things you would do for me and have introduced them to the kids, hoping someday Life won't be so cruel and will allow me to be more than just a Heavenly presence when they pass these things along to their own children.
I hate decades. You know, those pesky clumps of time in your mind joined together by happenstance. Decades give you the Good. the Bad. the Ugly. - either by chronological time or chronological age. You always said "Life is a series of peaks and valleys," and I'm sure when looking back at a "decade," people see that this is true. Some of the worst and the best times of my life have happened since 2010, (my 30's), but I always try to focus on the best, because that is what you taught me to do.
...
Six years ago, I watched you take your last breaths, as you were greeted by Deb, your parents, and your brother at the gates of Heaven... at that exact moment, I felt a strong kick from the little boy growing in my tummy. Judging by what Jimmy tells me, this is no coincidence. While you don't want me to remember you in the last 13 days of your life in that hospital bed, this moment was so raw and purposeful, it's almost the first thing I think of when thinking of you. It reminds me you are always here, always a part of who we are and what we do.
Today, we will visit the flower park and bring a balloon with us to send up to Heaven. When it reaches you, send us the cardinal bird so we know you got it.
Just not at 5:18am, please.
Love you, Ma. More.
