Every year, in the few days leading up to my daughter's birthday, she wakes up in the dark morning, just a few moments before her birth time, and calls to me. I don't know why, or what triggers her to do this, but each year for seven years she's done it. I wake up, go into her room, and lay down with her.
I remember all of the little details about her labor and birth.
I whisper to her about how hot it was that summer and how, on the day that I went into labor, the air suddenly cooled and the light shifted so that it felt like fall.
I tell her about how, six days after she was born, the geese flew over our house, honking wildly towards the south.
I remember that after Bronwyn was born, I had intense and vivid dreams about birds talking to her, and to me.
I think about how much my life has been enriched by Bronwyn's presence in my life, and how sometimes love can hurt so much, and that's okay too.
**UPDATE** I've uploaded photos of Bronwyn's party on my Flickr page here.
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