Maybe this is the way it was always meant to go; a pact we made in that way back time, that holy place. You, leaving early. Me, with so much yet to learn. Maybe the shock we felt by the abrupt way you left was only us forgetting. We had to bury our assignment deep down after all, so deep we wouldn't turn back, or give up before we started.
I have learned, Paul. The obvious lessons of course, your leaving taught us. The fragility of life. How quickly it all goes. Your baby girl? The one you paraded around the labor and delivery floor? She leaves for college tomorrow. Your teenage son is driving, and generally driving me crazy.
There were things that took longer to learn though; lessons I struggle to truly understand. I believe now the pact we made included our children; their suffering, part of the sensitive souls they've become. How many times did I try to make it better, because simply sitting with them in their pain, too difficult? All I was ever meant to do, it seems, was help them navigate it.
Today is your birthday, and we will celebrate you in the usual ways: ice cream cake and balloons, a chorus of Happy Birthday wishes, the usual longing. As always, I'll add a prayer of gratitude for you. Your careful planning gifting me time with our kids, this beautiful home by the sea. I want to believe you had a hand in bringing about the man in our lives, too. The one who carries Maya's picture in his wallet; calls Anna our Third Musketeer.
I'll write a message on your cake, Paul. Will you see it where you are?
Happy Birthday Bonhomme: my very good man.
