I’m so full of memories these days. A sure sign I’m getting up there.
Today is the vernal equinox. My older son, TJ, just sent me a photo of the rising sun from his car.
It took me back to an afternoon thirty-three years ago. I was waiting for him and his sisters to come home from school. The bus would be letting them off at the end of the street any minute.
Their three-day-old baby brother, fresh from the maternity ward and cuddly as a bunny rabbit in his fleecy outfit, was sound asleep in his white wicker bassinette in the living room, ready for display.
I could hear youthful voices coming closer to the house, yelling “Hurry up, TJ!!” In flew twelve-year old Jennifer and eleven-year old Amy, in their blue plaid jumpers, ready to adore this little bundle of joy they’d been waiting for almost as expectantly as I.
And then, in came eight-year-old TJ, not accustomed to running long distances, his gangly legs carrying him as fast as they would go. I can remember, as if it were happening right this minute, how his face lit up the room when he looked into that bassinette.