|Heath and Mom, age 2|
This year, as always, I look at my now eight year old boy through the shimmer of brimming tears. I melt as I look into those massive pools of chocolate brown eyes; my heart trembles when he smiles and reveals his crooked smile and dimple. And when he bounces into the room, cheerful as always, and hugs my neck, those tears spill over and I send up yet another prayer of thanksgiving to the God who gave me this child.
|Cousins. They are inseparable.|
So this eighth birthday, I will try not to hear the echoing of beeping hospital machines, nor see the ghosts of tubes and equipment hooked to my baby son. I will live in this moment, and choose to see this precious child for what he is today. And I think I'll cry anyway.
|Looking far too grown up with his glasses.|
Happy Birthday, Richard Heath Jr. I love you more than I can ever express.