We've hit two years in this grief journey. Somehow it feels unreal that so much time had passed since we last held our firstborn. There's still this hurtful throb in our hearts, pricking our consciousness and whole being as we remember Kai's special day this year.
The week leading up to his birthday had been tough on us. It's nothing new, I suppose. We felt the same way last year. But I was a bit surprised at how intense it was amid our frenzied caring for our newborn second son and Kai's little brother, Kian. Somehow, his absence is severely magnified by his sibling's presence.
Our firstborn, who we didn't get a chance to take home, who we would never have the opportunity to shower with love and care as a newborn, who we would never see grow up. I'm filled with longing for Kai, my child who is but will never be. But at the same time, I feel the need to let him go because his spirit should be free.
We went to where the ocean is to remember him that day. I imagined he was there when I looked at the wide expanse of the sea before us, just above the horizon line, tiptoeing on the water and flashing a smile as bright as the June sun.
"Now there's three of you to remember me by, Nanay," he said.
"Yes, anak. Every year from here on out, there will be three us to wish you a very happy birthday," I said.
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| Pacifica, CA. June 16, 2012. The place where I had my maternity photos taken when I was pregnant with Kai. |
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| Mommy with Kian, hiding in the Ergo. |
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| Daddy walking around with the bubble machine. |
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| Baby brother, Kian, enjoying a quick sip of to-go breastmilk. |
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| Happy birthday, Kuya (means big brother) Kai. We love you. |
