A Tribute to My Son Who Would Have Been 50 Years Old Today

You would have loved this milestone birthday. Anytime you could party surrounded by more friends than I thought one person could have, you were in your element. That beautiful smile would light up the room, and everyone was drawn to you. I could hear people constantly calling, “Mac” or, as you preferred, “Mac Daddy.”

Even in high school, I waited up many nights for you to come home, both mad because you missed curfew and scared that something had happened to you. I sat by the window, hoping that each car that passed meant you were home and safe. You didn’t understand why I was so disturbed because you thought I knew that, as Mac Daddy, you were invincible, and I had taught you that the Lord was with you wherever you went, so why was I worrying?

Your birthday is always difficult for me, because I remember the miracle of giving birth to you. The doctor couldn’t believe that I conceived you and carried you full-term, when I had suffered four miscarriages and been told that I would never give birth. You proved them wrong. When I held you the first time, I learned the depth, breadth, and width of love for another human being. When I took you home, your two sisters and two brothers, my adopted nieces and nephews, instantly called you their little brother, never as a cousin, and felt a responsibility to protect you. We spoiled you, admittedly.

When you died in 2006 after stopping the rejection medicine from your new heart, I was furious with you for giving up. I was in Montreal to deliver a paper, and you were gone before I could get home. You died after being told that I knew you were leaving us and trying to get to you. I believed that if I could get home, God would provide one more miracle and save you.

But because of complications from the surgery, your feet were so bad that the doctors threatened to remove both big toes, which would leave you in a wheelchair. For the young man who put more than 25000 miles on my car in seven months, the prospect was too much for you. I understand now, but, sweet love, it still hurts not to see your smile and hear you call me Mummy, and to have you kiss me to stop me fussing at you. You knew how to win me over! Your two daughters and two grandchildren keep you alive in the world and in our hearts. You were a joy to parent, my miracle child. I will always love you and pray that when my time comes to leave the land of the living, you will be the first to greet me, after I hug Jesus.

Happy heavenly birthday, Mac Daddy!

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