After a grueling pregnancy where I was hospitalized twice,
my beautiful, perfect firstborn son ~ Philip Thomas ~ emerged into this
world on July 21, 1988.
He was an energetic, happy, tow headed little boy that loved books, Legos,
soccer, Cub Scouts, his little brother, fishing, and playing outside.
Phil had some struggles in high school due to depression and low self-
esteem, but had a group of close friends, had a great student-teacher
relationship with his algebra teacher, and graduated high school with a
very high ACT score and plans to start attending community college.
But, life doesn't always work out as we plan - or even hope and pray for.
I could write a ton about this and give you many details, but to keep it
in a (tiny) nutshell, with Phil's depression and maybe some other mental
demons that plagued him too, he turned to drugs and alcohol to numb his pain.
This is what ended his way-too-young life at the age of 21.
My beautiful boy would've been 25 years old today. A young man with
a future and hope. I can't help but wonder what he'd be like today ~
would he be working or going to school, or maybe both? Would he still
live at home or be out on his own? Maybe he'd have a lovely girlfriend.
Some of his friends are already married and a couple even have babies.
The three of us - me, Brian, and Tim - chose to celebrate Phil's birthday today
in our own quiet way. We went to the grave site with a quilt, sandwiches, and
water bottles. We spread out the quilt by my dad's and Phil's grave (Phil's ashes
are buried at the foot of my dad's grave) and picnicked in the sun, sharing memories
of Phil and talking about life and death and perhaps what happens after we die....
what the Bible says, what we believe, what we don't believe, what some others believe.
This I know for sure: that life is too short. That 21 years with your child
isn't enough. There should've been a lot more happy birthdays.
