To me, to me

Last night I dreamed I discovered a grandson I didn't know I had. His name was Christian. I saw him, cuddled him, was allowed by his other grandmother, who was raising him, to take him home for a while. I was telling him stories about his father, who died three years ago last Thursday.

Of course it was all a dream. There is no Christian, no living legacy of my son; but every day I see Jeremy and remember how he lived with such passion and vision. And every day I'm closer to being where he is, although it's obvious it's taking me a lot longer to get ready.

So happy birthday to me. This year, I'm not spending it as I did in 2003, on my way to bury my child. There are mundane tasks to accomplish, places to go, things to do. Not much will be birthday-ish, but that's fine with me.

I miss my son.