Saturday, Robbie turned 26.
(It's funny how that happens -- or the way we talk about it, how you are one age, and suddenly you are another. And in between those two numbers are all these intervals -- but we don't talk about those things You are one number, and then another.)
And suddenly, you are within -- no longer outside of -- the realm of a year where you expect certain things to happen. This was the year you fell in love, the year you graduated high school, and college, the year you had this job or that, the year of the dog, of the cat, when the cat ran away, your fist car -- and this is the year that Robbie will become a pharmacist. He is in that year. Finally. Outside of all the years he spent getting to this one. (Oh, but those years are wrapped up in him still.)
And his years are all wrapped up in me.
Every birthday you meet, beautiful boy, is you beating your disease is a little bit more. But even that feels so wrong to say. We are always talking about conquering cystic fibrosis (or cancer, or anything else) -- and not about living through it. And that is what you do. And that is who you are.
Here's to another healthy, happy year. Here's to that, and here's to you -- perfect, wonderful you.