How do I think about you?

As I sit here in the shade this June day, 
exhausted from laboring in the heat,
watching the silent white clouds
drifting across a clean blue sky,
feeling the relief of a gentle breeze,
I look over at you and see you again
for the first time in many years.

And I ask myself, "How should I think about you?"

You were so small.
When did you get so big?
You look so healthy.
Who took care of you these 18 years?
Why haven't I been paying attention?
You were the response of love given in the time of grief.
So few remember why you are there.
But I do.

And I ask myself, "How should I think about you?"

You were such happy news.
Yet, I never had the chance to meet you.
Would you have been an artist?
Would you have been an engineer?
Would you have been graceful?
Witty? Caring? Musical?
You were the product of love, yet led to grief.
So few remember that you were there.
But I do.

And I ask myself, "How should I think about you?"

Your fate paved the way for another.
Out of our grief sprang joy.
How can we tally the loss of the unknown
against the delight that fills the void?
Why is this hitting me now?
It has been 18 years!
So many lives affected.
So few know.
But I do.

And I ask myself again, "How should I think about you?"