Owen, this morning I woke early and watched the sunrise, as I do every year on the day of your birth. Its a quiet time when the rest of the world falls away and again it is just me and you, as it was in those final moments before your birth five years ago.
I try so hard to celebrate you and some years like this one, it is difficult. Some years I am selfish and angry and want to scream at the heavens. "It was not enough. It is not enough!" I want my son here with me.
Some years I find comfort in believing in heaven. In believing that one day I will enter heaven and you will at last be handed to me. That I will be able see you and smell you and memorize you all over again. That I will never again have to let you go.
Some years it is too hard to believe in anything. Then I look at science and statistics and just shake my head. Those numbers mean nothing and I cannot find you there.
Every year I turn to the sunrise. I sit in silence.
I hold my breath and wish that I was holding you.