March 29th is my baby boy’s birthday. He’s 42. So much life has happened since then. Good, bad, ugly, beautiful. Yet, I can still recall with razor clarity that he was born at 12:40 p.m. (because I was hungry and they wouldn’t let me eat anything but ice chips and jello). It was bitterly cold but brilliantly sunny outside, with that pale high blue sky signaling the cusp of spring and the wind has blown the air clear of clouds. He was my second child. I remembered only too clearly 18 months before when his sister was born, and all of the prodding and poking various people in white uniforms and lab coats did when all I wanted to do was sleep and forget…

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