My son turns five today. It's hard to believe it's been so long since he showed up, nine days early, to turn our world on its ear. And every year I celebrate the angel that entered the world on November 5 and I take a minute to remember one who left it the same day more than 20 years before.
My Grandma Jean died on November 5, 1982. I was only 9 but I remember her so clearly: her laugh, the songs she sang, her gift of Smurfs and Smarties every time we visited, her doing handstands against the fence, her amazing food. I think of her a lot, wishing she could have watched us grow up, could have met my kids, could have had the chance to really enjoy life. She deserved that. So did we. Grandma Jean was a force, and she was taken too soon.
I like to think that Ben and all of his energy, his strength, his sweetness rushed to be born to balance out what was lost on that date, and he's doing a pretty good job of it! Happy Birthday, little man. Great-Grandma Jean would be proud!
