BabyColby

When Colby was younger, much younger, he used to love to hear stories of BabyColby. BabyColby was, of course, Colby as a baby, but over the years, through the many stories, he morphed into his own separate entity.

BabyColby used to grab my index finger so hard it turned purple. When we were going somewhere in the car he'd reach over from his car seat (this was long before the recommendations were to have your child ride in the back seat, or even facing backwards) and grab my hand. Then he'd babble in paragraphs. It was never just words, or even sentences. Even as a baby Colby had strong opinions about things and voiced them loudly. To illustrate his point he'd pound his hand (along with my purple finger) into the arm rest of his car seat, then he'd laugh. His laugh then was a sharp intake of air that sounded more like an asthmatic wheeze than a sound of merriment.

BabyColby stood up for the first time on his six month birthday. He began walking at nine months, and at thirteen months said his first sentence, "Mom, it no go." BabyColby was in the yard with me as I picked up sticks and his words were in reference to a huge log he was trying to move. "No," I said. "It's too big. Let's pick up these smaller sticks instead." And so he did.

I wonder now, if BabyColby knew, even then, that he would not be here long. If that was the reason for the early milestones. Certainly by age five Colby was verbalizing his knowledge of his short stay here on Earth, although I refused to believe it, acknowledge it. It  wasn't possible, was it? Kids just don't die young. But they do. Many of them do.

I look out now at a few stray sticks in my yard and think of BabyColby and how much I wanted him, loved him, still love him. Every baby is precious, special, but BabyColby really was so much more than just precious and special. he was much more than that, and even though he is not with us any longer, I know he still is.