Twenty seven years ago I was sitting in the hospital room trying to share my arms with visitors that sat bedside next to me and my brand new precious boy. A tiny boy that really scared me. Scared in a sense of not doing the right thing to make him thrive. And live. I remember the odd feeling of putting him against my breast to nurse and thinking "oh my gosh, what in the heck am I doing"- How is he gonna survive on this fidgety mom, slash young teen, slash teeny boobies. Like, was there enough milk, something doesn't feel right... How was I gonna navigate us out of there and to our home where a crib waited. That same crib that I had organized and reorganized many many times during the days after his due date.
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| First dive since transplant August 2016- |
I remember driving home in the back seat with him in my mother in laws Toyota Supra. And while staring at him crunched up like a little potato bug in that car seat, all I could worry about was someone hitting our car.
Arriving at home, I remember setting him on that little hand-me-down love seat in that little grey and white hand-me-down car seat watching his chest rise and fall so quickly. I didn't want to remove him from it.
I was petrified of doing this mama thing on our own.
In fact, I called the nurses shortly later asking why he was breathing so fast. And why his little chest area had a huge dip in it. Like something was missing.
His first wails in distraught would soon come with those blow out diaper changes. Navigating around that circumcision plastic ring, and that belly button black glob.
All I wanted was a peaceful baby. On my chest. Or nuzzled up into my neck. I can remember trying to rock him at 2,3,4 am in a rocking chair my aunt Ronda and uncle Wade bought me. It's oak. It still sits next to my desk at work. It proves the determination in motherhood and how you "just make things work" versus these new gliders I see adorning new mothers. I simply put couch cushions under mine to tilt it back. So we could both get some sleep.
I remember trying to wind up his swing with the smooth touch so the smallest click wouldn't jar him awake.
He'd sleep there some rough nights. But hey, he survived. Right?
Way past when the final swing little arm made its way around. And he stopped.
I'd protect him like a mother lion for the next 27 years. I'd shelter him too much at times, learning as he got older, the down sides to that.
He'd never be made to mow a lawn. Or wash windows. Or scrub a oven out.
He'd only learn through a step father how to make sure maintenance on cars are beyond important.
He'd learn that managing a savings account is vital. For your future.
He'd learn to be a tight ass so that a savings account is possible.
He'd learn to be kind to people and animals. By the good ol' quote "children learn what they live"...
He'd become very independent throughout his later high school years because his mom worked.
So independent that he'd tell me later that my sneak attack on them at the bike track to "smell his hands" to make sure he wasn't smoking cigarettes were covered with gloves while they smoked.
He never wanted to play sports. As a matter of fact, the first time I signed him up for soccer, AND took the role as team mom (shocker), he'd rub his legs out there on that field. Always proclaiming they hurt. He'd be more interested in the butterflies grazing the little white flowers.
Who wants to chase soccer balls when you can chase butterflies.
We'd stay so close throughout all these years. Becoming each others bookends at times. Watching him navigate friendships, relationships, teachers, peers, co-workers.
Soon, he'd navigate through the hardest days of his life.
He'd navigate learning the news no person ever wants to hear.
He'd smile at me through tears, while searching for the confidence in my eyes that I would help fix it.
However I could. He'd have to share with his mom, as she questioned things us parents never want to talk about...like- "If these things happen, what do you want...."
And the consent from him to be his advocate during care.
To make serious decisions should they arise.
She'd have to ask you questions about life and death.
Pushing you along in the dark days.
Scolding you when she felt the need.
Because, well, motherhood.
He'd hug his girlfriend tight, and share their intimate thoughts of "the next phase".
He'd remain sick, yet strong. He'd smile through pain, and sometimes speak his mind making the room full of whomever feel uneasy.
He'd speak the truth in more ways than we'd want to hear.
Same for his nurses, and doctors. They'd get an ear full, and a face full of whatever was on his mind.
Rightfully so, he'd have some very valid "opinions". We all do.
That's for fucking sure.
He'd get through the phases of this years journey.
At twenty seven. He'd learn a thing or two about life. About the reality of the things that happen to people.
To good people.
To all people.
We'd all pull together tight.
We'd share thoughts, and schedules.
He'd learn his girlfriend was a rock of a gem. One that shone bright, during his darkest days.
He'd learn his mom would continue to push for answers with doctors, pharmacies, nurses...
We are so blessed to have him here with us.
I woke in the middle of the night last night and all I could think of was the grace filled mercy handed to me. To him. To us.
Chances.
I got to wake up and call my son and wish him a happy birthday. I got to share breakfast with him across the table. I can wrap my arms around his growing waist. I can laugh with him, and share my witty silly humor. We can exchange text messages with sheer laughter.
I am lucky.
To say Happy Birthday to my handsome birdie.
I hope you can fly, seagull, fly. For many many more years.
You truly are the light in my life.
This song always reminds me of him...
Happy Weekend kids.....
We're looking for sunshine, boating, shade, water, hugs, smiles and strong cocktails.
Well, speaking for myself. LOL
Hope your weekend is filled with love. And life. Most always thankful for that.
This Mama Lisa
