Personal essays
Birthday thoughts for someone frozen in time
A celebration in my head
Elena would have been 27 today.
That just blows my mind.
She’s been dead a little over twenty years and there are days that I think of her and smile.
I just told someone the story of the lady who came up to Elena while we were in Heinens just before Christmas and told her that she should get her dad to buy her some of those beautiful strawberries.
“Oh no,” Elena said, “we don’t buy fruit out of season.”
I’m sure I’ve told you that story before and I’m sure I change the details every time I tell it - but it was something like that and it still makes me smile.
Being a dad
In my mind Elena is still six.
“Daddy,” the voice in my head says.
“What, baby?” I prompt.
“I’m almost seven,” she says with her hands on her hips.
I smile and look up at her on the landing and put my cup of coffee down on a nearby table.
I know what’s coming. I don’t always, but when she’s on the fourth or fifth step she calls out, “catch me” and leaps in my direction.
I hold her in my arms and feel complete. Nothing makes me feel more like a dad than when I’m carrying one of my girls.
Even the memory brings it all back.
I feel so good.
And then the smile fades from my face. It’s been twenty years since I saw her last.
“I’m almost seven,” she said and it was indeed a little over a week away.
I remember then that she never made it to seven.
You never know
Before Kim and I became parents we were visiting friends talking to their six year old.
We were already well into the process of adopting our first child and here we were visiting a family with three adopted kids and one not adopted.
Kim smiled and told him that he had helped convince her.
“Well,” he said, “that’s true. But you never know what you’re going to get.”
We looked at him looking all serious and full of wisdom and knew that he was right.
You never know what you’re going to get whether your child is adopted or not.
We were lucky.
Maggie is my favorite adult in the whole world.
I’m certain, if Elena was with us, it would have been a tie.
Of course, if Kim was with us, it would have been a three way photo finish perhaps with one pulling ahead now and then but all running neck and neck, day after day.
But Elena never made it to seven.
I have no regrets on the things we did during her short life, only sadness that it wasn’t longer.
I wonder what sort of twenty-seven year old she would have become.
Happy Birthday, Baby.
“Daddy,” the voice in my head says, still with the timbre of a six year old, “I’m not a baby anymore.”
I know baby. You’re forever six.
Essay from Dim Sum Thinking Newsletter 310. Read the rest of the Newsletter or subscribe