July 31

Today is Logan's 17th birthday. 

We celebrated him as we have in the past, with lunch at Outback, where we had that brown bread that he loved so much and a trip to his grave, where we left a brand new Car-with-a-face. Then at home his siblings played a few truly rousing rounds of their Club Penguin video game (the volume was unparalleled) before we dined on spaghetti and meatballs, watched the new-to-us Cars on the Road series on Disney Plus, and blew out the candles on his chocolate-on-chocolate birthday cake. It was a good day, I think. But it was also one that brought many new thoughts to my mind.

In a world without heartache, without loss, without sin, Logan would be a week shy of starting his senior year of high school. I was talking about it with Adam earlier today and although I don't know what he'd be interested in at age 17 --would he have made the switch from dance to baseball like Isaac did? Would Isaac watch him from the bleachers as he played Varsity ball, eagerly soaking up every move and adjustment his big brother made in order to improve his own game? Would he be saving up cash to buy a luxury car, since he had such an affinity for the Wexus and the BM-dubbaU? I don't know-- but I do know that he'd be wonderful and gregarious and kind and funny. Definitely funny. I think that sense of humor and that laugh were parts of him that could never really die or even fade.

So yes, 17. I know the year that's to come will be a challenge for me, as I don't get to get misty-eyed as he poses for his cap and gown photos or sit beside him as he decides where he'd like to go to college or take a million pictures as he heads off off to Senior Ball or watch him cross the stage and claim his diploma. I can see myself getting stuck in the grief of it all. In the loss. In the unfairness. In the sadness of missing out on those once-in-a-lifetime moments. I can see myself feeling cheated and I know that if I let it, the bitterness will take root in my heart and grow until it chokes out the joy.

But instead, I'm going to try my hardest to be grateful for the time I had with him before he was born and for his infancy and for ages one, two, three, four, and five and for the trickle of months that led up to his departure. I'm going to remember the time when he danced freely in the street at Disneyland and how he'd wake up in the middle of the night, make his way into our room, and then stand silently by our bedside until one of us woke up. And how he'd smile that radiant smile of his the second our eyes popped open. And I'll look back on the time he took 2.2 seconds to strip himself naked and jump into the fountain at our alma mater in Southern California and smile at the memory of the impish grin on his face as he laughed and splashed as we, his horrified parents, looked on. I'm going to treasure the moments we did have for the treasures they were.

Because the difficult truth is that God never promised that this life would be fair. In fact, He said it wouldn't. And although my very human heart yearns for my Sunshine and shakes my fist at the God who did not restore him to my arms, it also sings praises to that same God as the one who took Logan's hand at death's door and ushered him into paradise. I'm grateful for all of the lessons he taught me over his short five and a half years on this earth --lessons that I'm still continuing to digest even now on his 17th birthday-- and I'm grateful that I will see him whenever Someday arrives. 

Happy birthday, Logan. I love you.