When Kolbjorn was born, the first thing I really noticed was his face. Before the chord was cut, before he was passed to me to hold, seconds after his first breath, I saw his blond hair, and then his face. One of my first thoughts was how masculine this beautiful, blond baby looked. I knew he was a boy just by looking at his face. To me, he had such distinctive features; all babies look so similar - but he didn't look like just another baby. He looked so grown up. I remember thinking that I needed to memorize what he looked like. I thought that if he still looked that good as a teenager, he'd have to fight off the girls. I wanted to remember what he looked like then so I could compare it to what he looked like as a teenager. I wanted to preserve those moments, seconds after birth, when he first looked up at me. Even then he had such an insightful, penetrating gaze, it felt like he could see all my secrets as he looked at me.
I never got to see what he looked like as a teenager. I have nothing to compare those memories to. The glimpse of his future that I had in those few seconds are all that I have. Those few moments were a taste of what I've missed, and a bit of insight to the young man Kol might have been today. They were a gift.
