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The Triumph of Some Unartriculated Hope
The year I turned 12 years old, I went to the hospital one very dreary February afternoon. Six months later, I would come to hate that hospital—and hospitals in general—as I fought to recover from a complicated and painful operation. But that day, that ugly and rainy and beautiful and magical day, I didn’t hate that hospital yet. Given what I saw that day, I couldn’t.
I had come to visit two people. The one I knew better was fast asleep as I entered her room, but she looked happier than I had ever seen her. And as for the other person—well, he was wide awake and not too sure he liked this whole business of being wet and hungry. He wasn’t screaming yet, but he sure was thinking about it; you could see it in his eyes. Back then, I didn’t know him and he didn’t know me, but I took one look at him and knew we would love each other.
What I didn’t know is just how deep that love would run, how exhilarating and exhausting it could be. And I certainly didn’t know that I would get sentimental enough to post something on the internet celebrating that, by the time you actually get to read these words, he will be older than I was then.
I can’t even explain why this is important, somehow: the fact that he has managed to outlive the self I was when I walked into that hospital. It is natural and normal, especially since I was so young. But, on some level, it is the happiest of his birthdays that I have celebrated since he first came into the world; an affirmation, the triumph of some unarticulated hope, the fulfillment of a vague promise that I made when I began to love him—even if I never knew it.
He is gloriously alive, loved, and loving. And as he begins to live his dreams, he has all the more reason—every reason—to stay that way and flourish. And even if there is an ocean that separates us now, I can see with utmost clarity that he is in my heart, more than ever, to stay.
Thanks to the magic of time zones, he will celebrate his twelfth birthday a full six hours before I can mark the date here. So, this may not match the date of the day I walked into that hospital, but it is close. And right in every way that actually matters.
Happy birthday, darling.