21 years ago today Luke Aylestock Myhre made his entrance into the world, a month early (but not three months early which he had been threatening), after a difficult labor that nearly ended in a C-section, on a snowy day in Baltimore. He was beautiful and perfect but a little early and punky, so whisked off to the nursery in an incubator. 21 years later he was back in Baltimore to interview for medical school on another snowy day. He's approximately thirty times the size he started and finally sleeps a bit longer, but most things haven't changed significantly. We still revel to watch the new steps with wonder and hope, still find our hearts wrapped in his flesh, still banter our points of view, still enjoy his company more than just about any other in the world. But now we have to do that from seven thousand miles away. We sent postcards and a few fun things in the mail weeks ago. That's how we have to do Birthdays, right? I thought that was fine.
Then this morning, a bustle to get Jack out to a basketball tournament, breakfast, laundry on the line, be at rounds by 8. I started writing a note on a baby and wrote down the date: 8/2. 8th of February, hit me like a punch in the gut.
Our firstborn son is an official adult today. It's another milestone we'll miss.
He'll be fine, with friends and work and hopefully a good dinner. We'll be fine too, distracted by most of the last 8 hours in the hospital on call. But it's another little shift in our family. And while we celebrate survival, celebrate independence, celebrate the beginning of a future, we also grieve. As all parents do, who look away from the incubator to blink and find that the little person inside is riding a bike and reading, is making slingshots and climbing trees and falling out, is writing poems and scoring goals, is climbing mountains and solving equations, is flying across continents and learning new languages, is leading groups and captaining teams.
Because he is his own person. A person we are proud to know, a person whom God has gifted in a hundred unique ways, a person who will cut to the core, see the problem creatively, live to the fullest, invest in his friends, and not lose sight of the real and the important. A person we believe in, no matter how many miles or months separate us.
Then this morning, a bustle to get Jack out to a basketball tournament, breakfast, laundry on the line, be at rounds by 8. I started writing a note on a baby and wrote down the date: 8/2. 8th of February, hit me like a punch in the gut.
Our firstborn son is an official adult today. It's another milestone we'll miss.
He'll be fine, with friends and work and hopefully a good dinner. We'll be fine too, distracted by most of the last 8 hours in the hospital on call. But it's another little shift in our family. And while we celebrate survival, celebrate independence, celebrate the beginning of a future, we also grieve. As all parents do, who look away from the incubator to blink and find that the little person inside is riding a bike and reading, is making slingshots and climbing trees and falling out, is writing poems and scoring goals, is climbing mountains and solving equations, is flying across continents and learning new languages, is leading groups and captaining teams.
Because he is his own person. A person we are proud to know, a person whom God has gifted in a hundred unique ways, a person who will cut to the core, see the problem creatively, live to the fullest, invest in his friends, and not lose sight of the real and the important. A person we believe in, no matter how many miles or months separate us.
No comments:
Post a Comment