Happy 12th Birthday, sweet Samuel! In my mind you are perpetually sweet, but as I typed that greeting, I realized at 12 you might not be so sweet if you were here with us. 😄 But maybe you'd take after your dad and brothers and be kind and speak words of life far more often than not. I realized recently how unusual it is that I get to hear words of love, life, and encouragement every single day from the 3 men in my life. Your dad has modeled kindness and encouragement in our family, and as a result your brothers speak to me with the same kind of tenderness and respect that your dad does. I am spoiled by their intentional words that lift up, and yet I also feel like that's what everyone should get to hear every day, and I am so thankful it's what your sisters see and experience so they know to expect nothing short of excellent treatment from the men who will someday be in their lives. Your brothers don't always get it right, of course, but they are such wonderful humans, and I am sure you would love being their little brother and would look up to them and want to be like them. You would be choosing very wisely! They are true gems. Though so very different from one another, they are both extraordinary, and I wonder how you would fit into the dynamic and who you would gravitate towards. Maybe you'd match Joel's endless ability to play -- he'd love that!, or maybe you'd tip toward Caleb's quiet reader ways. Either way -- or a totally different way all your own -- we'd treasure and love you and your unique wirings. And you would so enjoy your little sisters, Samuel. They are so fun and earnestly wish they could have met you. They'd love another brother to lead the way and look out for them and play with them. Anna talks about you pretty regularly, and Eliza sometimes get teary thinking about you and how you're not here with us. We all feel your absence.
Today has been a little harder for me than the last couple of years. I woke up with a nervous stomach and have been close to tears for a couple of days now. I think it's at least in part because we haven't yet done the cookie baking extravaganza. Typically we deliver cookies to Egleston Children's Hospital before your birthday, which enables me to work through some of my heavier emotions before August 1 arrives. But this year, even though I had all the ingredients and was ready to spend the day baking, we ended up having to push pause because Caleb has been sick all week. I took him to get Covid tested Thursday morning even though he and Joel are fully vaccinated (yay for vaccines!!!) because he has some Covid-like symptoms. Thankfully he was negative, but our pediatrician recommended we wait to bake and deliver cookies until everyone in the house is healthy. Though we won't be able to go up to the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit this year due to Covid, we are able to arrange a cookie drop-off with our CICU contacts, so hopefully we can work that out once Caleb quits coughing.
Today is a fuller day than I would typically prefer your birthday to be. In general I try to keep August 1 as unscripted and unscheduled as possible because I can feel my tension and grief escalate when the outside demands on me go up. I like to be home as much as possible and be able to have whatever kind of day it ends up being, but this year your birthday fell on a Sunday, which means morning church and now also means afternoon church because I started leading a freshmen girls' small group in our high school ministry. (I don't even know the last time I felt so inadequate for the job set before me, but that's another story.) Even though I might have preferred to do online church today, I found myself really grateful to be there this morning. We sang "Goodness of God," and you are what I think of whenever we sing that song:
And all my life You have been so, so good.
With every breath that I am able
Oh, I will sing of the goodness of God.
Gosh, I can't sing those words and not think of you and our time with you. It's so true that God was perfectly faithful to us in your life and in your death. He showered us with His goodness while we huddled around your hospital bed. His voice led us through the fire, and in the darkest nights when we knew we had to give you back to Him, He was close like no other. I have never experienced the nearness of God so tangibly and so beautifully as I did during your month of life. He was a loving, faithful, good Father and Friend, and His goodness has been running after me ever since -- and long before -- I laid eyes on beautiful you. It's counterintuitive that something so hard and painful illuminates God's goodness and faithfulness to me, but no other part of my story speaks as loudly of the faithfulness of God than you. It's one of the many reasons I am so thankful to be your mom, Samuel.
We did birthday cake and our balloon tradition this afternoon, and Gabu joined us. We all wrote our balloon notes and released them in the front yard. It was windy, so we lost track of them really quickly. As always I loved reading what your siblings wrote to you. They each miss you, and we all have a thousand questions about who you are and what you're like and what Heaven is like. We all register the gap you leave in our family. Each one of us loves you deeply and longs for the day when we will know you intimately face-to-face. That day is coming. You are more a part of our future than our past. It's a beautiful promise, and I cling to it on days like today. Though I've now spent 11 of your birthdays apart from you, the birthdays we'll be separated from one another are finite. But the number of birthdays we'll be together? Those are infinite. I don't know when those will start, but once they do, they will never end. That's basically impossible for me to wrap my mind around, but it sure is a comforting thought. What are 60 birthdays apart compared to infinite birthdays together? Just a blink of the eye. I'm coming, my dear Samuel. I will be there soon-ish. Probably really soon to you but not so soon to me. And in the meantime, I know you are fully you, fully alive, fully joyful, lacking absolutely nothing. You are in the presence of Jesus, and there is nothing more you need. You are content in the truest way, and therefore you are patient for our arrival. That is beautiful. I am so pleased that you are enjoying the bounty of Heaven and the unwavering love of Jesus in His very presence. There is nothing better. And I couldn't want more for you than that.
I love you, Samuel Erik Apinis, my son. Do you know one of my favorite titles of all-time is "Samuel's mom"? I've only been called it a handful of times, but it fills my heart with joy whenever I think of it. I still remember the day nearly 12 years ago when a stranger came up to me at church about a month after you died and asked, "Are you Samuel's mom?" My heart swelled with joy and pride and sorrow all at once. No one had called me that since you'd gone to Heaven, and in that moment I realized I hadn't thought I would ever hear those words again. They were beautiful and heartbreaking but mostly beautiful. I remember my eyes welled up with tears as I said, "Yes. Yes, I am. I am Samuel's mom." Or maybe no words came out at all, and I could only manage a head-nod because the joy of the title overtook me. But that moment and those emotions have stayed with me all these years -- turning in surprise to a stranger's tender smile and feeling so much pride that I got to be your mom. Only me. It's a title only I have the honor of carrying, and I am so thankful God chose me. He could have written a different story, but He wrote this beautiful one, and I praise Him for your life and trusting your dad and I to be your parents. We are forever grateful and forever changed because of YOU.
Happy Birthday, Samuel. I love you more than words can ever say.
Love, Mom
