March 2001, the 17th
It’s a cold, snow-covered day in your grove as we anticipate spring and the first shoots from the bulbs we planted around your fruit trees. Today was your due date. My heart is so heavy with the sorrow of your loss. The sadness seems so fresh all over again.
I am so sorry we will never know you this side of heaven. I am so sorry and wish I knew why you had to go away so quickly. I do so wish you could have joined us here!
Harrison is getting big, growing so quickly. He loves little babies. I know he would have loved you! As he matures, I’ll share this book with him and the story of you.
Today is St. Patrick’s Day, an annual holiday we celebrate in honor of the Irish relatives on both sides of our family. It will also be an annual reminder of your birthday. Even though we didn’t get to celebrate it here, it will serve to heighten our anticipation of meeting you in the world to come.
The corned beef is stewing — filling our home with the scents of generations past. So many things about this holiday — the subtlety, the links with the past — will forever tie me to you. You will not be forgotten.
I can’t explain it, but I love you. You will always hold a special place in my heart.
Here’s one of the original apples from the original trees. We had “Griffin’s grapes” the first year, because they were so small. But the second year, we had enough of a harvest to bake an apple pie. It was a family affair.
Here is the book I made for him. For the first several years after he died, Steve and I journaled in it on St. Patrick’s day, the day he would have been born.