It’s almost like a thick fog rolling in, yet this time it’s covering my heart, the sunlight from within. The fog is misty, white and gray . . . and I notice my vision is blurred with tears. I’m trying to hold tight, as the wind picks up, the breeze of life that can storm my heavens. It’s a battle within, a struggle, a “tug-of-war” . . . and the pull is great.

I busy myself with baking his cake.

Flour. Sugar. Eggs. Mix.

NICU ward, oxygen mask, incessant beeping machines.

Oil. Baking Powder. Blend until creamy.

Doctors, nurses, tears, fright, fears.

Baking Soda. Vanilla extract. Mix again.

Questions, surgery, faith, exhaustion.

Pour into cake pan. Bake at 350.

Heartache, worry, wonder.

Set timer for 45 minutes.

Time standing still, prayer.

I’m losing the battle. The memories so deeply etched within every fiber of my being won’t leave. They are tucked away, beneath layers of blessings, gratitude, positivity and miracles.

The weary and worn memories are further and further from today, but they are there.

It’s almost like a thick fog, a brewing storm. I try to grip my sunshine, feeling the warmth on my face, allowing the rays to dry my tears. But I am no match.

His beautiful birthday cake is cooling. The sweet scent fills my home and heart.

My special little boy is turning 9. And it’s all okay.

My inner struggle and battle of reminiscing . . . is healthy and soothing. It allows me to move on. Move forward to a new year, new growth, new miracles.

The fog clears as day breaks. The sun’s rays take on new light. My storm subsides. My gratitude grows stronger.

Happy birthday, my precious Chaim Boruch.

A cake with a soul.

From your mom, with love.

(Chabad-Chana Scop)

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