Written March 4th, 2025 … I started but just couldn’t finish
Published May 18, 2025 … sometimes it takes me a while to get all the words out
Happy 21st birthday. One I don’t get to spend with you, like that first one, but one of the many I’ve spent since finding ways to honor you and fill the day with anything I can to make it through. I have lived two decades without you.
Just 12 days ago, your beautiful nephew was born. He is perfect in every way, and I know he is just what my heart needs right now. Watching your sister take on the pain of labor, absorbing it all, knowing that her son would be at the end of it, brought me right back to your birth. Maybe it’s the time of year—your birthdays so close. Maybe it’s because we both labored naturally with our boys. Maybe it’s because you were both 10-pound, scrumptious babies.
Seeing her strength allowed me, for the first time, to really see my own. I was reminded of what an incredible moment your birth was. Holding Lucas brought back the unmistakable memory of holding you—not just the day you were born, but the day your body could no longer hold on and you left us. I didn’t want to let go. And now, holding Lucas, watching him exist, I see how fragile you were. Twenty years of distance tends to soften those details… until they become tangible again.
The ache of your absence has been a constant frenemy all these years. Through all the grief and the seemingly insurmountable mountains of heartache, I would choose to be your mommy over and over again. You bring me profound joy. That heartache and joy have worked together to shape who I am today. You are woven into the very fabric of me. Your loss has taught me resilience. The memories of our time together fuel my determination to love hard and try to cherish every second with friends and family .
Your memory continues to guide me, a vibrant reminder of the beauty that can emerge from pain. Through the kindness and empathy I try and consistently extend, I carry you with me. You’ve given me a purpose I try to honor every single day. To be your mother is a gift, one I will embrace endlessly.
While I have many days when I am “okay,” I still find myself overcome with grief on your birthday. I’ve always tried to be transparent through my journey, and today is a difficult day. Yesterday, I felt strong, like I could make it through. But when today arrived, it hit hard. The thought of you turning 21 is difficult to comprehend. The world keeps moving, people keep growing, but you… you are my forever baby boy.
You missed out on so much of life’s joys, sorrows, achievements, changes, and beauty. Yet, your short life left behind a legacy of hope, advocacy, kindness, and love. I have learned to take what comes at me with grace and strength. I will never have you physically again, but I get to have you in other ways. I get to share you with the world. It’s not the same, but it brings me peace to know that in honoring you, maybe I am helping to leave the world a little better.
This year, to celebrate your 21st birthday, our family came together to love on you in a special way. A good friend helped me reimagine our tradition. Instead of writing on balloons to release them, we wrote our love and wishes for you on paper, then lit them, watching the flames turn them to ash. We caught the ashes in our hands, fragile, fleeting, sacred. It was the start of a new birthday tradition, one that felt grounded and purposeful, marking this milestone birthday with both reflection and love.
We also honored you by donating to a local nonprofit, Vienna Jammers—an after-school percussion ensemble for children. When I saw what they’re all about, and felt the passion and care their founder shares with every child in the program, I knew this was the right place to give in your name. I could picture you all grown up, feeling a sense of belonging in a place like this, where you could have been celebrated and loved. I often wonder if you would have loved the things that I loved. I felt like I belonged when I played music.
What would your life have been like if you were surrounded only by love and safety? If every adult around you had shown up with kindness, patience, protection, and encouragement, the things every child deserves.
That is the legacy I want to carry forward. I want to live in a way that emulates all of those things. I want to build safe spaces. I want to love more boldly. I want to protect more fiercely. And I want to make sure the world remembers your name—not only through grief, but through the sunshine that emanates from it.
Happy 21st birthday, Meatball.
You are forever loved. You are forever mine.
