9.

Nine.
9. 9. 9. 9. 9. 9. 9. 9. 9.
How is that possible?

I thought the days leading up would be the worst. That perhaps nine would be a year where the anticipation was worse than the sting of the day.  I was wrong.

The screams of Christmas woke me from my slumber on September 15th and I realized that Jonasen had discovered the 50 balloons I blew up for him the night before.  On a night where I could say, "Nine years ago tonight I didn't know..." He ran upstairs to my bed and threw his nine year old arms around me and said, "Thank you mom!" I held him tight(er) though he probably didn't notice~ He was off in moments to rejoin the laughter of his younger siblings and I was alone with my thoughts.

Jeff joined me soon.  He was tired.  He had woke early to get donuts for our 9 year old Joe, and to sit and remember Andrew.  Something that he needed to do alone.  Something that I too needed to do alone but this year being a Saturday, it was a luxury I didn't have. Jeff reminded me I should get going to the garden... We had soccer games later.

I felt the water with my hand and stepped in.  My eyes closed and I felt I was in our old shower.  The one in the house he should have come home to.  The shower I sunk to my knees in praying I could wash the bad dream of losing him from my being.  My hands went to my face and my body shook. This wasn't happening.  Why was this happening? I had done this before.  Nine times.  9.

But then I realized, I had never grieved a nine year old before.

Nine.

An age I remember. An age of opinions and thoughts. An age of wonderings of the world. The year before a decade.

I sunk and cried and like those days of long ago can't recall how I got up, toweled off and readied myself to face the living.

No make-up today.  The sun was shining and I was thankful I would be wearing my sunglasses to hide my tired, sad eyes.  For how could I be sad? Nine years ago today I became a mother and he became a father.

I met him in the hallway and he took me in his arms.  Again I sank and he lifted me.  We stayed there for a while until he whispered, "Go. Don't let them see you like this."

I scooped my keys, the candles, the marker, his journal and the fire and I was off to buy his balloons.
Nine.

I got to the garden and walked the path I had walked so many times. On this day.  September 15th. With balloons in hand, I walked to her brick, I wrote her I loved her and thanked her for coming to my dreams.  I kissed her balloon and sent it to the sky.

And then I went there.
To his brick.
With his balloons.
And I sat.
And I sunk.
And I sobbed.
Nine.

I wrote him I loved him. I told him it all. I kissed each of his nine balloons for the nine years he's been away and I watched until they were gone. Faded into the blue.  Faded from sight~ and soon from memory.

I closed my eyes and I didn't see him at 9.  I imagined our reunion.  Him a young man, stepping out to see me when I got home.  Taking me into his arms and saying, "Welcome home, mom.  I got all of your kisses, all of your tears, all of those many, many balloons. Welcome home.  Welcome home."

The game was starting and I knew I had to go. Unlike years past I had to stay strong. I was meant to be here. Meant to stay.  The reunion will have to wait. But one day it will happen.

And I am 9 years closer.

9.