Today is the day that I gave birth to our older son on his father’s birthday. Eighteen years ago.
It’s hard to believe that I have a son who can vote now, even if he has to wait another year to *ahem* legally drink alcohol outside the home. He’s away at Queen’s, and we sent down a gift with his brother when he visited him last weekend. He is, I believe, working hard at his studies and, I hope, playing hard too. His father and I are very proud of the young man that he has grown to be and know that these next few years will shape him even further.
My husband? What can I say? It’s been 26+ years of marriage that has flown by in an instant. He’s out of town this week, so we don’t get to celebrate his birthday together today, but we’ll do it right on the weekend.
We met when I was in my fourth year of undergraduate studies at Queen’s. I was a Math major and he was a graduate student in the same department. We had Matrix Algebra class together, and I made a friend switch seats with me so that I could sit beside him. He had arrived from France where he had done a Maitrise, after leaving Beirut and the civil war in 1977. He had a charming accent and insisted that in his culture, you take others out on your birthday. I can’t recall where we went, perhaps the Grad club, but that was our first time socializing outside of class, even if it was in a group. We attempted to get together over the Christmas break, but I don’t think it worked out. Our first real date was in February, and we were engaged the following October, and married in August 1983. We were both PhD students by then, living the good life in Kingston.
Fast forward through years of study, work, trying to get pregnant, having two beautiful boys, moving house, going back to school, moving to Atlanta, returning to Toronto, to the present, and I am hard-pressed to imagine being more blessed.
To these two men in my life, I send my love. And I thank God for all he has blessed me with in this life.