Six years ago, right now, I had a backache.
Six years ago tomorrow, that backache was hurting like a son of a bitch.
Six years ago day after tomorrow, that backache was misdiagnosed as a kidney infection and/or a pulled muscle.
Six years ago day after day after tomorrow, my son was born, three and a half months before he was supposed to come into this world.
We've come full circle 'round in the calendar, as Will's birthday falls on Saturday this year -- the same day of the week on which he was born. I promised myself I wouldn't dwell on the rememberances, but I'm finding it hard not to, especially given the exact parallels.
Sometimes, it seems like those moments from six years ago happened just yesterday. And sometimes it seems that they transpired forever ago.
And today, as I sit in my office chair, and type, with Will walking easily and happily through the room, stopping to help me type or to sing a song, I can somewhat reconcile the past with the present. The song he like to sing most frequently with me these days is "Happiness," from the Broadway musical You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown. And as I hear his sweet little voice sing "Happiness is anyone and anything at all, that's loved by you," tears automatically well up in my eyes. I wouldn't exactly call what I'm feeling peace, but I'm closer to that than at any time in the past six years.
We've all come a long way, baby. There's still a lot of gravel and pavement ahead, but for today, I'm just going to stop at the side of the road and smell the wildflowers. And count my many, many blessings. Starting with my six year old one.