In the Mormon world July 24th is a big deal (especially in Utah). It's Pioneer Day. In Mormon world your eigth birthday is a big deal, as well. It's the year you get baptized.
July 24th has an entirely different meaning for me. It's the day my first son was born, and he would have been eight this year had he lived passed six weeks and one day.
Each year I handle this day a little different. I would not say it gets easier each year. Some years are better than others. I try to celebrate his birth (not death) on this day. I do it quietly. Bobby and I exchange a word or two about it, and we are forced to go about our day's business. Tomorrow we have church, and I even get to teach a lesson on service. Should be interesting.
I am better because of his life. I am stronger, wiser, more faithful, and determined. I sweat the small things less than I did, and I tend to remember what's truly important more often. When Thomas died, I was so in tune. I became the strongest, wisest and most faithful I had ever been. Nothing of the world mattered to me at that time.
Quicker than I would care to admit the world has crept back in. Each July 24th I try to renew myself in honor of his memory. I try to regain some of that strength, wisdom, and determination. I remind myself how silly all of this petty stuff around me is, and I recall what is of most importance.
Let us not forget why we are here and what matters most. Though he was just six weeks and one day my son taught me more than I had learned in a lifetime. I can hardly recall his face, or his smile, or if he had a birthmark, but I can tell you he is mine for the eternities, and the love I have for him never fades.
Happiest Birthday, my son. Till we meet again.
