Five

This morning, I woke up and was excited for Owen.  Today is his birthday and I remember the innocent anticipation of presents and choices and kind words from birthdays.  A day of pure pleasure. 

Eric and I, Jack and Grady sang to Owen and I watched Owen’s shy smile appear, and anticipated the joy that he would feel today being the center of attention.

Eric said to Owen, “You are five now!” And my heart crumpled. 

My little boy is five.  Five is just wrong!

Five is the beginning of the end. 

Five is the start of school.  It is an increasing variety of influences on my little boy that is so separate from my relationship with him.  I love that Owen will experience all of these new relationships and adventures.  I just wish that it didn’t have to be at the expense of my time with him.

I know my mom will smile in understanding at my anguish, but will probably think, “try adding 30 years to your child’s 5. That is true separation.”

And my grandma will also smile, and think, “Try adding 50 years to your child’s 5.”

And I know that they are both right, and my loss is coupled with the likelihood of many wonderful years of living with Owen under the same roof. 

But right now this is the pain that I am feeling.  And it is true and strong and heartbreaking.

Happy Birthday my big five-year-old Owen!  Thank you for making these last five years be something I am terribly sad to let go of.