(gorgeous candle pic by Jessica.Diamond)
Darling Atticus, today is your birthday. You would have been 7. Seven. wow.
Imogen woke me this morning to tell me excitedly that it was your birthday, and had I remembered? I had. She and Cole then proceeded to sing happy birthday *directly* to you - on their knees, with their wee hands clasped in prayer. I am ridiculously tickled that your brother and sister are wholly convinced that prayer exists for the purpose of talking directly to their brother, and God doesn't really come into it except in His role as a compassionate landlord of sorts, who shares babysitting duties with Nana Mary.
Sweetheart, I am not going to go on and on about how much I love you and wish you were here with us in more than a narrative sense - you know all this; I talk to you all the time. Instead, I'm going to say I hope you enjoyed watching the hut your siblings made on their beds with the biggest quilts and longest broom handles in the house...I heard them having a conversation in it last night after bedtime (note to self: big homemade huts are fabulous things, but they will help ward off sleep for small children better than even gorillas in the cupboard!) about how they would make it bigger if you were there to play with them. I teared up a little, and got considerably less grumpy about them still being awake so late.
Happy birthday, my sweet little bunny boy.