Tomorrow.

Tomorrow is a very special day in our house.  A day that has been marked, remembered, and celebrated in our family since 2010.  A day that, just two years ago, became an unexpected anniversary.  On February 8th, 2010, February 9th seemed inconsequential and completely normal.  Because at the onset, February 9th was going to be unusual only by being my last day at a job that I had worked at for two years.  A day to mark my last day in the workforce and help usher in my transition into motherhood.  But nothing more.  And yet, like most special days in everyone's lives February 9th surprised us.  It started with a 4am trip to the hospital and ended in a crib-less room in the maternity ward.  And without warning and without notice, February 9th suddenly became a very important day for us.  A day that we immediately knew would be special for the rest of our lives.  

February 9th, 2012 is markedly different from two years ago.  And tomorrow will certainly not be what we originally expected.  Henry would be turning two.  And as I wrote last month, I imagine that he would have loved his birthday.  He would have been surrounded by his cousins and friends, eaten delicious treats, and talked up a storm.  His cheeks would be pudgy and kissable, his eyes would be sparkling with mischief, and his legs would constantly be moving him from one excitement to another. He would have always been busy; constantly exploring and enjoying the party created just for him. 

And yet here we are.  Two years after saying hello and goodbye to our son and we again find ourselves thinking about tomorrow.  It is always a privilege to remember Henry.  And it is an honor to have an entire day set aside specifically for our tender memories.  But this week is at times a somber one and even though we take great joy in "Henry's day," we still cannot help but wish he were physically here.  To see him, hold him, and cherish each milestone and funny phrase.

My heart has been full of wishes this week.  Wishes of Henry's happiness and good health. And wishes of a different ending to his mortal story.  I fully know that these wishes are just that and nothing more.  To use a phrase that I have been quoting a lot over the past year, my "life is what it is" and I understand that.  I cannot change it and I would like to think that if I had supreme knowledge and understanding that I might not want it to change.  But maybe not.  

No matter how many years pass and no matter how many February 9ths we celebrate, there will always be a February 13th.  And a part of me will wish that Henry could be here not only for his birthday, but for every day.   

Last year, one of my nieces whispered something in my ear that I will never forget.  While her sisters were busily playing and running around, she came up and sweetly told me that my baby lives in the sky.  Her sincerity and conviction caught me by surprise and it took me a moment to realize that she was referring to Heaven.  My sister-in-law then told me that this same niece often told her that she wanted to ride on a balloon to the sky so she could visit Henry and Jesus.

I have been thinking about my niece, Henry, Jesus, and balloons a lot lately.  And I too wish I could take a balloon and visit my boy.  I wish that I could check in on him and see his progress.  To send a special cake to him through the atmosphere so he knew that we were commemorating the magical day he was born.  To simply pop in on him and just see him.  In fact, I wish that everyone could hitch a ride on a balloon to see those who they have loved, lost, and still cherish.  I am grateful for balloons, and for Jesus Christ, because I know that they will help make Henry's day special for him tomorrow.

And if he happens to stop by in some form or another, Henry will find many of his friends and family talking about him and taking a moment to think about his life. And I know that will make him happy.