There were Eids before you.
But-- what was it like to not give you your morning bath? Watch you race from room to room in your Eid clothes? Pray salaat with you quietly by my side? Your adopted auntie in our adopted city smiled as she handed you your Eidi. We're going to watch them grow up together, she said so simply but so profoundly that it stopped me mid-step- because just like that they will do just that- grow up. What was it like before I watched you watch children with curious reserve who appear today, an ocean apart in age, but who in a few short years, I pray, will be your dearest friends?
Sometimes I question the power of prayer and I wonder-- is anyone listening? And then- there are these moments of startling clarity. . .
. . . when I look up at the people who inhabit my life each day so seamlessly I can fail to see the magnitude of the blessing I've been given.
But I see it today. Every prayer that means anything is reflected in the people I love. When I look at your father and you, Waleed, I realize every dream I had came true. Thank you for new kinds of Eids. The ones that give me joy beyond measure by the simple presence of the lightness of your being.
Eid Mubarak to you and yours