Thursday, October 14, 2010
A few moments before you were born, I was afraid.
You had incubated inside your Mother for the better part of nine months and we'd waited impatiently for you to find us outside her womb. When the day finally came, I found myself in a comfortable room watching Virginia Tech lose to California on the little TV nestled in the corner. Your Mom, though, wasn't quite as comfortable. The epidural hadn't done what years of scientific research had predicted. It had only given half of her body the joys of lost sensation. Her left side, on the other hand, was ripe with feeling.
Couple that with the unsettling revelation that she hadn't dilated nearly enough, we were left with the prospect that you would be liberated through an incision.
When you finally graced this stage with your presence, you let everyone within earshot know you had arrived. It was calm at first, just hints that you were knocking on the door to a life, then the colors in the room changed. Casual at first, and then with vigor only a Daughter of mine could muster. Just when we all wondered what to expect, you let us know that expectations weren't worth passing glances.
The first time I looked into your eyes, you squinted and yelled at me. I fell in love with you immediately. That's why you're my Fall. That's when I let all of my fears slip away.
You surprised us every step along the way.
Not only did you sneak into life quietly and unassuming, you found a way to leave us standing wide eyed and breathless in a living room. I'll bet you can still recall that living room.
The whirlwind that found us sequestered in a small side room was as much to blame on the hospital's construction as it was on your choice when to arrive. The plan was well thought out, scripted and sculpted, and convenient. Valentine's Day seemed that much more of a perk.
But you're like me. Why leave a party content when you can leave it with style.
You weren't breathing when you found that little room. Your eyes were closed and you couldn't see me looking at you across the table. I watched them work on your little chest for what seemed like hours. In reality, it was a few immortal minutes.
When you quietly chirped for the first time, I exhaled. It was as if I'd kept a deep held breath for my entire life. I was elated and light headed and exhausted. All for a tiny, quiet "chirp".
One day later they finally let me see you. You were in a little plastic bubble. I couldn't hold you but I could reach my hand in and touch yours. You seemed so peaceful laying there. You just looked at me as if to convey "Be Still". Then you inhaled so deeply that I saw your little chest rise and without missing a beat you exhaled even deeper. I cried like a baby. I cried like a Father finally seeing his Son. Fittingly.
That's why you're my Winter. Because you let the world assume one thing and then you give it something altogether different.
I used to lament the fact that my world was tilted on its axis. I used to begrudge the fact that I rotated in an odd manner. Now I realize that if I didn't turn in such a fashion...
... I wouldn't have My Seasons to adore.