It's hard to believe that you would have been 29 today. You've had more birthdays in Heaven than here on earth. That's not easy for me to wrap my mind around. It's impossible, actually. When I think of you, you're always 14 and I'm 11. We're stuck in a time capsule.
Except you're gone and I'm here.
I tell myself you're in the sky, but there are times, like this one, when I don't want to search for you in the clouds. I want to be able to run up to your room and give you one of those hugs you loved so much. Your birthday makes me want to bake a chocolate cake with vanilla frosting and drink a banana milkshake. I wish I were spending this time thinking of what gift to get you rather than trying to put into words what 14 years of missing you means. Those words simply don't exist. There are some that come close: Love, Memory, Laughter, Smile, Brother. But, I'm in a selfish mood right now and I want you the person, not you the memory.
But because I find comfort in words. And because they are the only thing I have to give you. I want to say:
Happy birthday, Manny. I love you & I miss you.
I'm going to bed now and when I wake, I will look for you again in the sky, in the sun and the rain and the trees and the wind. I'll look for you in my heart, the one place you never left at all.