No one can understand what it means to be a parent, not
even another parent.
My kid has shaped me.
He has placed a garden of flowers in my brain, and built a bird house in the small of my back. He has drawn piano keys on the inside of my eyelids and has squeezed into, the bottom of my fingertips, an infinite supply of mint chocolate chip ice cream.
He has installed a perfectly, buzzing bee hive in my right ear,
and planted a cherry tree on top of my head.
My boy, my beautiful boy, what you have given me is greater than
the full value of even the most glorious of imagined lives.
And I have known this since that Fall evening, the nurse put you in my arms and I felt the thrill of the cherry sprout, reaching upwards towards the remaining splendor of sunlight.
