He Will Always Be My Baby by Pennie Hunt

Today would have been his 40th birthday. I say, it would have been, because it has been 17 years since I have celebrated a birthday with him. Seventeen years since I have seen my son’s smile, touched his beard, or felt one of his famous hugs.

I remember that day 40 years ago. It was Monday. I vacuumed the house. I watched Back to the Future on a VHS tape rented from Blockbuster. I packed a pale green terrycloth sleeper to dress a baby in. I wore a purple jogging suit to the hospital. My parents came over to stay with my other two children at 5:45 pm.

A sports game was playing on the television in the delivery room. It was basketball or football, I don’t remember for sure- I was busy having a baby.

“IT’S A BOY!”

This was a different time. There were no ultrasounds to predict what color to decorate the nursery months in advance. The excitement of hearing whether I had a new son or daughter was saved for that moment.

He arrived at 9:30 pm weighing 6 lbs. 14 oz and measuring 20 inches long. His name was Jameson Tanner. That was very quickly shortened to J.T.

He didn’t cry. He looked at me with wide-open eyes that twinkled as if he was back- not new to this world, but back for another visit to a familiar place. He was calm, but his eyes looked around as if he was ready for an adventure. An adventure that I wasn’t sure I was ready for.

I remember that day in colorful detail. I feel like birthdays are a joyous celebration of a new life and anticipation of what is to come. Year by year we celebrate who this person is, who they have become, and the progress they have made moving through this life. We bake cakes, blow out candles, and unwrap gifts.

I also feel like this day should be a celebration and recognition of the momma who carried this baby within the protective space of her own body. The mom who labored and birthed this soul. It should not only be a celebration of the safe delivery of a baby, but also a celebration of the mom’s birth-ing day. The day she gave birth to another human. The day she released a part of her soul into this world. A part that is never fully disconnected from her.

I can easily remember each of J.T.’s years on this earth. Each celebration. Each cake. Each blowing of candles and opening of gifts. I remember each one from the first to the 22nd. That is when the images and memories stopped. 

Today would have been the 40th. I can’t see him at 40. My mind tries to imagine him with a little gray in his beard and a few wrinkles around his eyes. I try to imagine what job he would have and how much he would still love playing his guitar. I try to imagine him laughing with his brother, sister, and his daughter. I try to imagine 40 years of his famous hugs.

But I can’t.

Today is a quiet day like every day. A cup of coffee while my dogs slept on my lap. A little reading and my morning meditation. Today I hit 1,000 days of consecutive mediation sessions. I don’t believe it is an accident that my guided meditation topic today was about addiction.

I don’t believe it was a coincidence that today I saw a young man walking down the street wearing a black sweatshirt, black baseball cap, and baggy jeans. As he talked on his phone I could see his auburn beard and curly hair reflecting the sun. A twin of J.T.

I don’t believe that it was an accident that when I started my car this morning, my music app began playing a song by one of his favorite artist, Bob Dylan. A song I had never heard before titled, I Will Be Your Baby Tonight. Interestingly, this song began playing on its own after I had spent the morning thinking of that day of birthing my baby 40 years ago.

I looked up the lyrics. It is a short simple song, and I realize it is meant to be about a couple, but today, for me the lyrics fit. Today it was about the day of J.T.’s birth. About how J.T. will always be connected to me and how he will always be my baby.
                                      ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 
                                                       Pennie’s Life Lesson:
                  From birth to death, everything in between, before, and after…
                              a mother will always be connected to her child. 
                                      ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

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​YOUR TURN...        
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                                      ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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