It’s the morning of October 14th. 33 years ago today I was on my way home from the Ottawa Civic Hospital with a blue bundle in my arms, born at 11.30 p.m. the night before –  a baby boy we called Samuel Jacob Edgar: Sam after many men in my family and his father’s; Jacob after my father and great-grandfather; Edgar for his dad and his dad’s dad. Much history in those names. His 3 1/2 year old sister was waiting at home, impatient to see who would be coming for her to play with.

Last night, there was big sister with her own son, Eli, at Sam’s 33rd birthday party, a joyful event Sam organized in the back room of his restaurant for about 30 of us – family, his oldest friends from high school, close friends from his business, and, simply, people who adore him, including Wayson and a middle-aged couple who’ve adopted him as another son; he’s a big brother to their teenaged children.

We sat at long tables, moving around to talk to different people, and the food kept coming – oysters, salads, dips and bread, pasta, small burgers, steak, all gourmet and delectable – and then a decorated chocolate cake made by Eli with a little help from his mama. Sam was his usual open and funny self, moving around to keep company with everyone, including his 5-year old nephew and his high school friend Dustin’s 3-year old daughter, imperious and beautiful in her cornrows.

Outside it was mild and grey; inside it was warm and full of love. Every time I pass the Civic Hospital – and I pass it every time I go to Ottawa to visit my aunt – I think of that night, the morning after, the blue bundle taking his place in our lives, the pictures of my parents holding him. And I think of my mother, who died 28 years later in the very same place.

Sam met Matt his first day at Rosedale Heights School of the Arts. Matt and his longtime girlfriend Maxine are like family.

With Amy. Also, already, like family.