Thirty-two years ago today, this little spirit arrived in crisis.
Emergency C-section.
Prayers.
Blessings.
Fear.
And then — him.
I had always wanted to be a father.
That desire was clean in me.
I trusted life back then.
I trusted God.
I got the privilege of hosting him for a few years.
Those years were real.
The love was real.
The pain that came later was real too.
And today?
"I love him."
"I was hurt."
"It's his birthday."
"And I'm okay."
Not cold.
Not nostalgic.
Not performing healing.
Just… integrated.
Four sentences that don't cancel each other out.
That's what coherence actually sounds like.
Today feels steady.
That's it.