Tuesday, March 27, 2012
He's going to ask me about those first eighteen days. I'm not sure I'll know what to say--- a kaleidoscope of activity, his crying mixed with his sister's kisses, my face nuzzled into his, watching him change minute by minute.
And then there was the feeling of pieces tumbling down around us: Max just four days old and a phone call from mom--- dear Winston had fallen and broken his hip. I felt arrested in time, helpless and wondering about my dad. Then we started to breathe again. Winston's prognosis was good, he was sent home and happy to be there. Mom would still be making a trip out to meet tiny Max and help me recover from surgery.
But plans are wispy things, caught up in the turmoil of life's events. Max now just eight days old and another phone call from mom--- this one she directed straight to Chip, saying that she needed to speak with him directly. I knew it wouldn't be good, and it wasn't: Winston had a stroke.
I've been unsure how to address it here, what to say and how to say it. I've huddled underneath the canvas of the little tent I erected when Max was born. I've shed too many tears, salted Max's head until his hair was slick with them. I've worried and prayed and wondered over my dad. The family rushed to his side while I listened from a thousand miles away.
Their attention and focus gave him strength. Their love and prayers gave him hope.
I walked the floor with my boy at 3am, making quiet promises for a future with Winston.
And in the days that followed, he has begun the long process of recovery. When I spoke with him on the phone a few days ago, he sounded wonderful. My most feisty and wonderful Winston. That night I told Max about one of his namesakes--- how there was another Boyd so anxious to meet him, his last remaining grandfather with so much to teach him about strength and grace and courage.
I think that this is what I'll tell Max about his first eighteen days: my world was shattered and built up again. I'll tell him that when everything else is stripped away by exhaustion and worry and sadness and loss, there is a long and enduring love.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
...okay, more than one funny thing.
There was this,
a tried-and-true FOUR-YEAR-OLD (Saturday was her birthday and she is so grown up).
Chip got a new job. A good job that makes him HAPPY, which is such a good thing because it makes me happy. But the downside is that it has him traveling again (cue universal laughter). So to recap: I am happy. And also very nervous (as you can imagine).
this belly - this baby - this this this HUGENESS, which is still a round reminder (no baby yet). And I'm perfectly happy about that, if you believe it. I'd like him to hold on for a couple of weeks, actually. Just give me a couple of weeks to finish putting his room together, to finish washing his clothes, to paint a couple of shelves, to actually sew him some swaddle blankets (cut out but as of yet, not a single stitch), and to pack a darn bag for the hospital.
And this, which is hard to explain without putting it into context. For the last two and a half years I've been working in the children's organization at our church (it's called Primary). I've been the secretary and the first counselor, always behind the scenes, happily in the supporting role. I've let someone else make the big decisions and call the shots (LOVE YOU AMANDA). And then, about five weeks ago, my Bishop asked me to be president (cue even more universal laughter). That was my first reaction, actually: I laughed. Then I looked at Chip. And I looked at Alice. And I looked at the growing belly. Then I said yes.
It's been a busy month.
But I'm excited to be here with you, and I promise I'm hanging in for the long term, come what may. Tune in the rest of the week for pictures of some of the things that I have actually been able to get done (fun and crafty and cute things).