My kids are not the first ones I bathed as infants, held as they toddled, hoisted on my back for a romp through the woods.
Today would have been my oldest nephew’s seventeenth birthday. It still is his birthday. Who would he be? What would have become of all of us, had he seen seventeen? Verge of manhood. He barely reached ten; did so with more courage than many show over the course of a lifetime, or so it seemed to me.