living the dream

They’re about to turn 10, on the 17th, all gangly arms, legs and chiclet teeth that look too big for their mouths. He’s a bit clumsy and uncoordinated, she’s more confident and assured.

She’s a solid introvert who loves to sleep, draw elaborate pictures, play the piano and sing.. He loves to cuddle, read books, take things apart and put them back together. They both eat like horses, devouring food without question, regardless. She likes lemons in her water. He gulps his plain, noisily.

I see in her eyes a reflection of me, of my lifetime, my failures and eventually, as she is proof, my success. She listens deeply, loves hard, feels everything, laughs riotously. He holds back a little, his dark eyes like his father, his smile, knowing and kind. He waits for the moment that he really knows what he needs to say, while she blurts out what’s on her mind. Her hair is a long, untameable mane of color, changing with the seasons. His, coarse and heavy, sticks out all over his head every morning. She skips down the street on her way to school, he follows, his thumbs hooked in his backpack, eyes on her, always following, always watching. She is his protector, he is her biggest fan.

I live to hold them, and as I close my eyes, I feel their skin on mine, the warmth of their humid breath against my neck. I can smell their skin. I long, yearn and almost cry daily at their presence, but it exists only in my dreams.

Because they never made it to this Earth. Yet I know them, like my own soul and veins that pulse the blood through me, like a breath from their lungs that mimics my own. I know how they would grow. I know the sound of their voices, their laughter and how they cry. I know what they love, because they are a part of me, yet never to be a part of me. They live, foggy edges and blurred, at the periphery of my life, always tagging along as children should, an echo of my voice coming back through the years, a whisper of thought.

You, my sweet Jane, and darling Dixon, who would have turned 10 this year, I’ve loved you from the moment I breathed in life, from the time I could imagine who you might be, what you would bring to my life, from the ‘I do.’ I clearly stated to your father, to the tears of loss that meant your breath would never touch my shoulder, nor your lips to my breast. But you exist.

And you always will. I love you, now and forever, to the moon and back and more than you could ever possibly know.