How can you possibly be seven years old?  Where did the time go?   I know those are often-expressed sentiments, but it’s so true.

The little baby that graced our world on September 28, 2005 has transformed into a confident, competitive young man who does very well in school, in sports and has an incredible ability to strive and accomplish.

You remind Grammy and me of your Dad, who was much the same way.  Always focused, always pushing himself to succeed.  Your Mom, also a first born child, certainly isn’t a stranger to achievement either.

One of the things I always think of when I think of you (which is often) is how you burst into a room with “an agenda.”

You’ve created something for us to look at.  Or you’ve got a new game.  Or you built something. Or you urgently have to tell us something.  Or you need Emma and Ben to do something with you.

You never casually stroll into a room – you absorb it, transcend it, attack it, and make the moment very much your own.

I love that about you.

I bet you build the Lego Millenium Falcon we gave you in record time, even though the targeted age group is 9-14 years old. You’ll be a little man on a mission.

Happy birthday Camden, I love you lots and am so proud of who you are.

Today was a special day for a bunch of reasons:

• It brought welcome relief.  My Mom died September 7 and we buried her September 12 (on Emma’s birthday).   So having a FUN, HAPPY thing to do 11days later was fantastic news. I couldn’t wait.
• It brought us together, all 13 of us, which is always so much fun.  We had crackers and dip, fruit and drinks and a grand old time.
• It was the first time we’ve ever taken a boat ride from our dock after 11 years of living at 44 Waterloo Circle. Grammy and I don’t own a boat, so we were excited about actually leaving our house from the water.
•  It gave us a cool new view.  We’ve been looking at the beautiful Piscataqua River from one perspective, but today we went East, up the river, and had a chance to see the beautiful inland waterways of Dover and Durham waterfront.  We went under three bridges over Little Bay, the one they’re using now, the new bridge they’re building and the rusty old one.   You loved walking (sometimes running) up and down and around the boat and crawling along the seating area.  Everyone visited the inside area where they sold candy which I, of course, bought for you guys!
• It gave us an awesome boat.  “The Heritage” is a famous and frequent sight in Portsmouth Harbor.  It brings tourists up and down the river all summer long, into the Fall.  People also use it to visit the Isles of Shoals.  It’s a beautiful wooden boat, a “Deltaville Deadrise” built in 1963.  It was used in Chesapeake Bay (around Washington, D.C.) for oystering and crabbing.
• It gave you souvenirs. Grammy and I bought you comfy sweatshirts and t-shirts that say “Portsmouth Harbor Cruises.” You love ’em.
•  It gave me an awesome ‘total family’ photo which will become my 2012 Christmas card! (see first photo below).
• It gave us great memories.  All of us will remember it – except for Madigan and Jack. Maybe we’ll do it again!

Losing someone you love deeply is one of the hardest things we face as human beings.  One minute they’re physically alive and in our world; the next, they’ve taken their last breath and moved on to a new place in the universe.

When it’s happening, you struggle to deal with it, the experience is emotional, confusing, disturbing, intense – and yes, very sad.

And so it goes with my Mom (your paternal great grandmother) who died Sept. 7 at the age of 89.  She was buried Sept. 12 in Mt. Calvary Cemetery in Somersworth, NH, the city my (childhood) family lived in most of our lives.  She was 89 years old.

Despite living a long life, it’s never easy to say goodbye forever. I was there when she died with my sister and a few relatives and friends. We held hands together and stood around her bed at Bellamy Fields Assisted Living in Dover. She died peacefully on a bright, unusually warm September day.

The past week were hard to get through.  Fortunately the lights of my life – Grammy, your Mom’s and Dad’s and my grandchildren -were close by. You made tough days better, just by being who you are. While you couldn’t understand the concept of dying, you instinctively sensed sadness, things being different and people you love hurting inside.

Rita Blais Beaupre – my Mom – was born in 1923, went to school in Berlin, NH and married my Dad  (Donald J. Beaupre) – your great grandfather – in January 1951. They became parents in 1952 when my sister Francine was born; I came along a year later in 1953.

Mom was an outgoing person who loved life.  When she was younger, she’d drive to Hampton Beach in the summer (over 100 miles away) with her friends to enjoy the largest beach in NH.  She went to New York City with her best friend when she was single, attending Broadway shows and concerts.  She saw Frank Sinatra in the 1940’s when he was at his peak – Sinatra is one of the most famous singers of all time

Mom helped run my Dad’s photography business, BEAU STUDIOS, when they were first married and later worked in the Human Resources department of the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard for most of her adult life (my Dad also worked at the Navy Yard).  She had many friends, was a great Mom, and will be missed forever.  My blog about being 10 years old has a lot of insight about what my young life was like.

You’re  so young!  Ben, while you’re the oldest of the “Samurai Seven,” you’re the oldest at 9 years old.  Emma 7; Camden almost 7; Ainsley 5; Jack, almost 2 and Madigan, a mere one year old.  While words weren’t there, kindness was ever present.  You hugged me, were gentle, loving and created special drawings I’ll keep forever (see below).

You made a very hard time, much, much better. Thank you.  I love you to Pluto and back and am so incredibly lucky you’re in my life.