I stalled in first coming up my own driveway
due to the beauty and oblivion and bravado
of youth–
a half dozen lemony butterflies
fluttering around my tires
and what appeared to be an adolescent
Robin
hopping back & forth
back & forth
across the way
uncertain how or where to lift off
calling out,
“Mom? Mom? Mom!”
It was an unseasonably warm day, much like today, but in 1999, when weather like this was so rare as to be a miracle.
I waited to pick up a pregnancy test until after my hair appointment that, not wanting to give up my annual birthday ritual of highlights, but knowing that I would, if there had been a someone, to consider, inside.
A year had passed without two lines on a stick.
My first miscarriage was six-years earlier.In May of 1993.
The second–in November–of the same year, on the day of Uncle Joe’s funeral.
It snowed.
A son had come two years later, and now a second soul was knocking on the door, but I hadn’t found the key.
I stopped at Rite Aid with my fresh highlights and purchased this month’s pregnancy test.
I stopped at the Post Office too.
A yellow notification card.
A package.
A high school friend. A cd. Stevie Nicks.
Once home, I peed on a stick. I pushed play.
I called my husband. And my sisters.
No one was there.
I pushed play again, and hit the repeat button, and turned up the volume and opened the French doors and stepped outside, into the yard, onto grass, instead of snow, and danced and twirled and laughed with the mountains and the woods and the sky. In rapture.
It would be months before this song became an anthem.
He was born just in time.
A week early.
She held him in her arms before she died.
His life and this song became our balm.
(A guest post. From a dad!!
Thank you, Colby Dix!!!)
“I cried today. It was real.
My son had a little piece of plastic in his ear and we were in the emergency room at Dartmouth-Hitchcock. I admit that I can be emotionally connected beyond the usual male stereotype, so this may not be that surprising. The thing was, just feeling that, and allowing it, so overwhelming when it came… It was something.
Because the extraction required sedation, my son was essentially conscious but zoned out in a ketamine haze. I winced while the proficient ENT specialist teased that foreign object out of hiding and removed it and I broke then even, feeling the deepest empathy for this blood of my blood. But that wasn’t all see; after it was done, he took a little time to re-awaken. To come back.
And his eyes were teary and glazed as they swam into focus to see me directly in front of him, concern in my own eyes and staring at the most important thing I can imagine. And as he recognized me, he sleepily said “I love you” with those teary eyes and I just let it go, responding in kind with a choked voice. How could I not?
Often in life I speak to the benefit of failure, in terms of learning and growing. But I seem to forget that I can learn a great deal from success as well. My most successful achievement, by far, is this little boy, and I’m exquisitely proud of him on the daily. And in that moment, with my heart aching to connect as completely as possible, I realized that my capacity for love had grown yet again. That I hit another level. He made me better, smarter and more aware in an instant.
Sure, this is a common enough tale. Young child sticks something in their ear, nose, whatever. But even in it’s commonality, there is so much to be gained. I’m thankful, and a little tired from it. I’m not saying this to land any great parable or nugget of wisdom. I just want to acknowledge it, because it makes me happy. Happy to be here. He’s the best.”
~Colby Dix
The Empty Nest Diary 