Owen, you were born one year ago this morning, shortly after the sun rose on the longest night of my life. You were born into silence. A year ago, I held you and kissed you and gazed down at your beautiful face for the first time. For the last time. I handed you to your father and we lived a lifetime with you in that tiny hospital room.
This morning, I woke just before dawn to find that your older brother and sister had climbed into my bed in the middle of the night. Your new little brother or sister rolled within in me and I once again watched the sunrise. I closed my eyes and remembered how you felt in my arms. Another day, a new day.