Twenty Years Ago Today

Twenty years ago today, I sat in a small alcove by the elevators outside the nursery at Rush-Presbyterian Saint Luke's Hospital. I was staring out the window at the night and then watching the sunrise through the El tracks over the Congress Expressway. It was my son's first sunrise on the planet, and he slept through it. Can't blame him. He'd had a rough night--he had just been born.

It was a peace-filled moment much like now. My head was not filled with grand ideas, no fabulous thoughts, no grandiose plans. My entire brain knew but one thing--I had a son. Some events transcend thinking. I had a son. A fact simply stated in only four words. I had a son. Four simple words filled all that I was. There was no need, no room for anything other.

On that night no one and no thing could touch me. A perfect silver umbilical cord connected my son to me to all of our bloodline to God. We were all one. The peace, the rightness, and the love of that night made me whole. Even the memory still sits light and fresh upon my soul. I had a son.

It is impossible to explain how the world changed that night. How could I tell you that colors became deeper and more vibrant and that air drew more deeply into my lungs? How would you know what I meant when I told you that everything in the world reached out to greet me in respect for the child who had come?

Twenty years ago today, it was his birthday.
Yet he became my gift.

Happy birthday, Eric. May the universe be yours.
The words, "I love you," seem too small to explain what you have given me.

From your mother, who thanks God often for the person you have become. (SD)

—me strauss Letting me be