21 years ago (Original post on FB 5/2/10)
21 years ago
A week of stress and distress. Your pliable bones being squeezed and crushed. Heart rate dropping with each gripping compression. A scare. Finally with all every last ounce of energy, a cry. Not an angry cry, an exhausted cry. Shocked. Cold. Bright. Despite the newly discovered brightness, you welcome it. Eyes open. Aware. Interested. Quiet. I should have known back then that this is the epitome of YOU.
Just minutes old, laying under the hot lamps. A loud metallic crash is heard that startles everyone, everyone except for you. You don't make a sound. Not a squeak. Only your head moves toward the direction of the crashing instruments, eyes wide open looking to see what you can see. I should have known back then.
I'm awakened from an exhausted slumber. Sore. Bruised. Every ounce of strength zapped out of me. Ribs aching. Arms cramping. I can't imagine imagine the pain and shock your body must feel. "I think he wants to eat. He hasn't cried. But he's awake and keeps looking around. Go ahead and see if he's hungry." Sure enough, you're hungry. I should have know right then.
Years later, you're in grade school, we're in the car. I look over at you, your head rested against the closed window, tears streaming down your face. I'm shocked to see your tears. I have no clue what has just happened. "What's wrong?"...silence. "What's wrong baby?" you barely respond, "I'm just tired". I'm beginning to learn.
Life is hard. You are there. Quiet. Steady. Observant.
It's taken me ALL 21 years to realize who you are. Quiet. Quietly inquisitive. Quiet. Sensitive. Quietly you suffer, quietly you rejoice. I accept you for who you are son. You are my quiet, stable rock. Steady and calm. Accept yourself for who you are and ask God what you are to do with what He gave you. Let him use your quiet spirit. Don't look back and say "I should have known", look forward and say "yes, I see".
I see.
I love you, baby boy!
Just minutes old, laying under the hot lamps. A loud metallic crash is heard that startles everyone, everyone except for you. You don't make a sound. Not a squeak. Only your head moves toward the direction of the crashing instruments, eyes wide open looking to see what you can see. I should have known back then.
I'm awakened from an exhausted slumber. Sore. Bruised. Every ounce of strength zapped out of me. Ribs aching. Arms cramping. I can't imagine imagine the pain and shock your body must feel. "I think he wants to eat. He hasn't cried. But he's awake and keeps looking around. Go ahead and see if he's hungry." Sure enough, you're hungry. I should have know right then.
Years later, you're in grade school, we're in the car. I look over at you, your head rested against the closed window, tears streaming down your face. I'm shocked to see your tears. I have no clue what has just happened. "What's wrong?"...silence. "What's wrong baby?" you barely respond, "I'm just tired". I'm beginning to learn.
Life is hard. You are there. Quiet. Steady. Observant.
It's taken me ALL 21 years to realize who you are. Quiet. Quietly inquisitive. Quiet. Sensitive. Quietly you suffer, quietly you rejoice. I accept you for who you are son. You are my quiet, stable rock. Steady and calm. Accept yourself for who you are and ask God what you are to do with what He gave you. Let him use your quiet spirit. Don't look back and say "I should have known", look forward and say "yes, I see".
I see.
I love you, baby boy!
posted by Rebecca at 9:43 AM
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