May 11, 1997
Mother’s Day
1997, a year of jubilation.
A son is born, he looks like his daddy,
offers annoyed looks like his grandpas,
and loves fiercely like his momma.
Family swarms, bluest of eyes smile
he wears Elmo, wants tractors
plays with cowboy Woody,
and completes with ZZ Top for coolest sunglasses.
Sat perfectly in our arms,
long limbs, this boy will be tall
best kisses given
he’d grow into the name Craig Paul
Aunts and Uncles learning, and playing house
first grandchild, those people are adoring,
offer mom and dad a chance to sneak out,
everyone making up for lost time and possible past failings
Growing appears tricky, doctors arrive
Time, we’re told, is on the tough side of fleeting,
quality of life, imperative,
Cockayne Syndrome stealing
With the right one, five years is never enough,
gift from God to teach us,
our minds swarm with lessons learned,
taking each day to move forward with many a celebration, he’s a big brother now, and his name is Mason.
Today, we remember the year 1997 as jubilation.