“It was then that she realized that the yellow butterflies preceded the appearances of Mauricio Babilonia.”
Gabriel Garcia Marquez
January 6 of 2015 is the day you were born. I spent all afternoon setting balloons in the ceiling to look like yellow butterflies because today is your birthday, and in my books, in my time, this is a line that counts. On January 6 it all comes back: you in my chest, you in the world, your dark deep eyes and stretched body floating towards me. My balloons look quite abstract and I was not planning on telling anyone of my nerdy literary analogy- but It is all suddenly obvious and Oh so cool! Because it is a little secret. The freezing white streets outside have no clue that there is one girl, just one girl that has every day the sun in her house (you). Every day. You are a tropical presence, and even while you sleep, now, all that happiness is still buzzing close to me. You were born today and this day will forever be magical and not even close to crazy. It is just what it is.
Because the day you were born was narrated by a magical writer in my dreams and then there, you were flying to me with your own yellow butterflies. You were born a Caribbean boy in Denmark, your presence and your Caribbean energy. It was legendary, all those people in the room witnessing the brightest sun burst into the blue light of a Danish-January-cold winter day. Your heart was beating fast and I could see a line in a screen that I followed obsessively, red (danger), green, red, green. That line was nothing compared to the look of your fast paced firecracker heart. Three gifts and one star. I can’t believe 2 years ago that happened. You happened and your life keeps happening every day, a beautiful thing. You grow. Your heart grows. The lion you are awakens and roars, smile-roars, kiss-roars, scream-roars, love-roars, all so very intense. And I love you just as intensely. These are the days, the days we count, the days we took those photos, the memories we keep in our heart, when we danced to rocking Red Hot Chilli Peppers, your hands up, your crazy moves, the jump. I see you amplify yourself on every power you discover, speaking your mind away in your own special language, wondering on the details on the leaves, on the dust in the frame of sunlight, saying Wow.
And I’m grateful for the time I spent with you this year, the books we read a thousand times, counting to three with your finger and running around the blue chair, watching you come up with unexpected games with a ball, then follow your very specific and clear instructions with your serious face. Your proud eyes make me infinitely proud. Your energy, convincing me of going out when I was not planning to, wearing my shoes quickly with one hand while you pull me with the other- showing me something that is amazing and yes! That is Amazing, I say. It is all amazing hands down. I would never doubt that genuine wonder. Never doubt the need for random adventures and rabbit holes, a Christmas choir that you decide to join, a metallic ramp that proves musical when you step and jump, the flashing lights of trucks and all other construction trucks, excavators, dump trucks, loaders and cranes (I know the difference!). You where 1 once and this happy sadness is a thing I live with now, every time we measure your height next to the closet door, every time you run towards me when I pick you up at the day care, running faster, looking brighter.
I don’t want to forget you were once one, your little hand in my hand, walking next to me back from Daycare, waving “hi” to strangers, making friends, pointing out the moon, the first time you saw it, big, round. Giving me kisses, touching my face just before you sleep, following the shape of my eyes with your hand, that sweet crazy love that you are. Your steps, your words, your experiments, pushing the chair to wash the dishes in the kitchen sink, pushing a chair to stand next to me everywhere I go and commenting everything on your own special language. It was a privilege. I loved you with all my heart all of those days. You, and your firecracker beauty. I love you.
This is the Caribbean, told by Gabriel Garcia Marquez.