One Year

How quickly life changes. Most of the time it's before I know what to do, before I get there, before I say the right thing, before I understand it. I thought moments like this came at the peak of great crescendos, emotion building around a single, focused event until the beautiful resolve of a significant moment. This is far from reality. Instead, all moments, great and small, are shouting in the cacophony of the present. 

It was one year ago today that I got this call from my brother while I was sleeping. My sister-in-law is in labor. "Hold it," I tell myself. "Stop, slow down. Slow down this moment until I am there." Rachel and I raced from San Diego to Los Angeles. In the car, we found out our nephew was born. He came
so quickly! My hands tightened to the wheel as I pushed down the pedal, fighting through the traffic of life, fighting everything that stands between my brother and I, hoping to catch the fading glow of a moment I could not slow down. Parking the car and rushing into the hospital room* I saw my brother, now a dad, gazing at his newborn son.

Over the past year, my brother has become a loving father to his son. My sister-in-law has become a loving and compassionate mother. Everything is changing, becoming more beautiful. My nephew is one today. He has the blue eyes of his mom; he has his dad's big hands. Now his hair is longer and he can walk. Oh, I miss holding him and playing with him alongside his dad, watching him ride his new trike.

Today at his first birthday party, my nephew was surrounded by people who love him. I know he won't remember whether I was there, but I will. It hurts to not be there with my brother, to hug him and whisper to him that he's a great dad because he loves his son. 

Happy birthday, little bud. Your uncle loves you and misses you.

*The same exact hospital room into which my mom, twenty five years ago, was admitted, giving birth to twin boys. The relatives gathered around and took pictures. I don't remember that day, but my brother and I were held in love.