Happy birthday baby boy. You should be 16 years old this year. I don’t even know what to say. Leading up to your birthday I felt broken. How can I not? The forever contemplation of what you would look like, how tall you would be, if you would be driving, who you were crushing on at school, what sport you would be playing, if you and Valin would continue to be close and cover for each others backs… it will never end, my questions and wonder.

It has been over a month since your birthday. I’m sorry for not writing sooner. I felt so guilty for letting your day pass without this. I didn’t know what to say. Every time I tried, I would just stare blankly at the computer screen. You’ve been gone 7 years, this year will be 8.  8, the number of years you were alive before diagnosis. Thoughts like that creep into my head, paralyzing me. I hate every second of it. I wanted to celebrate your 16th with family time. Spoiling you with gifts and any meal you request…. I would assume sushi but that too makes me wonder. But this is our life now. No celebration. No favourite meals. No family time.

So now I sit here, with my heart tight and my shoulders slumped. I try to remember your first 8 birthdays with the joy and glee that it was. The laughter and excitement you always brought to your day. Remembering the day you were born and the instant love we felt when you were in our arms. Every year was a gift for us, though I wish there were more. Your 9th birthday is not a memory I want to hold, but it floods back in the forefront. You were so so ill during your 9th. I’m sorry I couldn’t grant your birthday wish and rid you of the cancer. I would have given everything away to grant you that one wish.

I love you Madox. I miss you every single day, but birthdays are the hardest. I will continue to honour you. Until we meet again my sweet boy