I imagine we'd start at the pool, because he loved to swim. We'd brought him there ever since he was two months old.
He'd have all of his friends over to our house afterwards. There would be cake and huge messes everywhere and we'd be lucky if the weather would let them play in the leaves in the backyard.
Then maybe the kids would go to bed and the adults could stay up and have a few drinks, stare up into the stars and talk about what we hoped for our little miracles in the next year.
We had started to plan Dominic's first birthday, started to wonder what his first words would be and when he'd begin to walk.
So many dreams. So many hopes. Shattered in an instant.
"Your son has leukemia."
That was a year ago today.
I still remember needing to sit down and catch my breath. I felt dizzy. Trish started to cry. The doctor and nurse stood there waiting to catch us if we fell.
In that instant all I saw was death. But in the coming weeks we regained our hope, our strength and began to believe he'd make it.
Then, just more than a month ago, those dreams were shattered too.
There are good days and bad ones now, and we count each day with him as a gift. Maybe he'll still make it. He was our miracle in the first place, after all. We'd just started talking about adoption when he came along.
We can't plan a month ahead now. He'll get the T-cells next week and after that, who knows. Maybe GVHD, maybe more chemo. His second birthday will look similar to his first out of necessity, not desire.
I long for every hug with him. Every night we get to spend together as a family. Every smile, every step, every time he does something I don't expect and every time he does something I do.
He's taught me so much. How to love better, how to live better. How important it is to give. How little most of our problems really are.
September is national childhood cancer month. I hate it. But tomorrow I get to see him again after a long week at work. That, I love.