A Birthday Poem for Shannon
 

Most Especially Yours

Forty-two years ago today, you waited, impatiently,
in final preparation.
You grew stronger, swaddled in love and anticipation,
getting ready.
The day dawned sunny and warm overnight,
full of early spring in the coastal air,
with its ancient, yet brand new, promise of life--
Most especially yours.

Birth came in a rush, urgently, intensely, punctually.
No time for looking back, then.
And memories blur, but for that one defining moment.
Punctuated,
in exclamation, it remains always
embedded in my heart like a jewel:
that first breath-giving, breathtaking, awesome cry--
Most especially yours.

Infancy was fleeting, the most hasty segment of life,
marked by a few sleepless nights.
Quietly, you grew, swaddled in love and anticipation,
getting ready.
Seems as though I blinked, and you were a little boy
finding your own rhythm,  your space, your course:
how stunningly  quickly childhood vanishes,
Most especially yours.

The years went by, the days, the weeks, the months,
marked by social events, ballgames.
Friendships, school days, first love, life’s dreams ebbed and flowed in procession.
And I waited.
You left me unprepared, surprisingly shocked
by your empty closet,  quiet room,  my empty nest:
Every  exodus left its own kind of void,
Most especially yours.

The years go by, the days, the weeks, the months,
marked by living, death, work, play.
Families growing, everyone changing, aging in succession,
getting ready.
The next generation comes, and goes, the same as before,
everything changing, nothing changing, all adjusting.
But I'll never get  use to the absences,
Most especially yours.

I love you, Shannon. 
Happy Birthday!
March 16, 2010