33

Today Luke is 33.

I am here in London,
Sleeping in the room he stayed in when he was here shooting Pan.

Remembering it all.
The labor.
The birth.
The first scent of him.
The muzzling, checking fingers, checking toes.

It all started today.
My Motherhood.
His life.

I am disoriented.
I feel unsettled.
My stomach roils.
My heart is tight.
A vibration hums throughout my torso.

Japes and Sam are coming to eat fish and chips with Mum and I.
There will be cake.
There will be candles.
But no Luke.

It seems odd to mark it.
A betrayal to not.
And so… we do.