Today is my oldest’s birthday. He’s 18.

He’s been in an amazing mood since he, Misty, and my neighbour fixed his car so it would pass inspection. Even with his impending launch out into the world at the end of the month, he’s been on cloud 9.

He took me on a drive in his newly licensed in his car yesterday, and we drove the winding road around the lake blasting The Who and chatting.

“Thank you.” He said to me focusing on the narrow curves and his shifting, as I Can’t Explain played.

“For what babes?” I replied, and stopped my singing to turn the music down a bit.

“For everything. And I’m sorry. For being so difficult.” he said, his expression looking pained.

“I love you. There is nothing to thank me for. You’ve battled a lot – you still do – and I’m proud of you. You should be proud of you too.” I tell him, and I am. Proud of him. Even as he makes terrible choices and fucks up, he battles. He continues to try.

He smiles, keeping his eyes on the road, and we talk about how awesome his car is, the apartments he’s looking at with his friends, possible new jobs and then I got nostalgic.

“After I came out of recovery, it was 3am, and everyone had left. The nurses brought you in to me, I was tired but I couldn’t wait to hold you again and spend some time with you. The room was dim, and I had you cuddled close. You just stared at me, wide eyed and quiet. I sang you Black Bird over and over, until you fell asleep on my chest.” I said to him, smiling watching the views and his driving.

“You sang me that for years, AND you tell me this story every year around my birthday.” he said, smiling too.

“Can’t help it. And who knew you’d have jet black hair??”

As we get closer to house we crank Pinball Wizard and both sing loudly – I’m a little surprised he knows all the words.

I want to bottle the moment up, save it in my memory. We really have come so far.

Happy 18th birthday Thomas, I love you.