When I discovered you were there, I knew you’d be a gift. I just didn’t know how much life you would really bring into my own.
You know the story well; you ask me to tell you again and again. And, I do. The part where I tell your dad the news by sneaking a bottle of chocolate milk into the refrigerator, wrapped with a Harley-Davidson bib tucked beside the sweet tea. I tell you about how he carried your pictures in his wallet and how Mother’s Day was the first time your dad felt you move in my growing belly.
Then, I tell you the hard parts; about when Daddy got hurt and was in the hospital and couldn’t be there when you were born, couldn’t really be there for you for a long time.
And, you ask again about the day you were born.
It was a battle. You fought me for 27 hours, finally showing your beautiful face, face up with an arm raised in victory. You left me utterly exhausted, but unable to take my eyes off of you from across the room. The nurses cleaned you and weighed you and finally, finally they returned you into my aching arms. Touching you and holding you, connected me with your dad in a way that was impossible as he lay comatose. Not only were you his flesh, but in my heart, I knew you’d just left him in the heavens as he communed with God while he slept.
You told me on a regular day, while helping your dad into the car, how Daddy had seen Jesus before; he’d seen him while he was sleeping before you were born. It was so matter of fact, completely unprompted and if I wasn’t holding up your dad, I probably would have fallen straight to my knees.
Corbin, you are a wise beyond your 9 years. Be it from our life’s journey, or from the gifting of God, you amaze me every day.
You love sports, but play soccer so you can “follow in (your) Dad’s footsteps.” You want to be a survivalist, like Bear Grylls, or a NBA player when you grow up; we can all dream. Next year, you want to get certified to scuba dive and I think that is so brave. Right now, you’re reading like crazy and it makes me so happy to know you love words like I do. It touches my heart when you call me a writer and when you smile so broadly whenever I get the chance to pick you up from school. It makes me feel like a real mom.
I am so thankful you like to spend time with me; throw the football, go on our walks around the block, wrestle and snuggle in bed to giggle watching Duck Dynasty. I know those days may be numbered, but I pray you’ll still like me when you’re a teen and taller than me. I hope you’ll still hold my hand, at least in private and I hope you’ll still ask me hard questions like “why did Daddy’s accident have to happen?” You stretch me emotionally and spiritually and more than anything in the whole wide world, I am most proud to be your mom.
Not only do I love you because you’re mine, but I like who you are. I like the glimpses of the man you’re becoming and I love your tender heart; it’s just like your dad’s.
Happy Birthday, Son. I love you past the stars and back again, always and forever, no matter what.
Children are a heritage from the Lord, offspring a reward from him. Psalm 127:3