Adam Turns 11 In The Morning

Adam Rogers Gillette II
was named for his Uncle Adam,
whom he never got to meet.

We had the party on the weekend.
When I asked him, "Guess whose birthday
is tomorrow?" I could see the wheels begin
to turn, and when I said, "It's yours!" he
only gave a whisper of a smile. He's tired,
not feeling great, affected by more stress
and turmoil than a child of ten (for one more
day) should have to bear. "My real birthday,"
he said softly, perhaps thinking he won't spend it
having fun. The cake is almost gone and since
this morning, he has spent his birthday money
on a holster, and a game, and a new gun.
There's a doctor's visit in the afternoon and baseball
practice later, but we celebrated royally on
the weekend, with zombie make-up, laughing kids
throughout the yard, and twice the pizza
that we needed (always better to have
too much of some things instead of not enough,
like hugs and love and pizza). Eleven years ago
tomorrow, though, he saved my life. He did.
By being born, a baby who has given me such
joy (and tears, because he is a complicated boy.)
Distracted from my recent grief, I held him
tightly. Now I have to learn to let him go.



(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014