A letter to my son

You didn’t cry.

Thirty-seven hours of labor. In and out of the hospital. Your heart rate rising and falling until your doctor decided it was time to go and get you.  Mommy was given medicine and fell asleep.  I waited in the hallway with your aunt Tara and both of your mom-moms. They wheeled you out around midnight and the hospital policy was that I was the only one that could hold you before mommy woke up.

We sat in that room together for two hours and you looked up at me with deep eyes.  You didn’t cry.  You just watched me.

I found a note the other day from when you were three.  I worked a later shift at the time and we spent many mornings watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse at 5:30 am on the couch and, at the time, we didn’t think anything of it.  We thought you were just an early riser.

Then you were busy.

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You ran before you could walk. Literally, not a joke, ran across the living room floor before most kids took their first unsure steps. We hit every playground in the area. You climbed, jumped and played with the best of them.  We tried sports as soon as we could.  You played soccer, baseball, basketball, football, anything you could throw and catch.

When you were happy you were happy.  When you got mad, you started to get mad, like really mad.  You became a swirl of sadness and anger wrapped into a screaming package.

Your brother came along when you were four and, for a little, things were okay.

The anger got deeper. You got stronger and the combination wasn’t the best thing for us. Still, we thought, it is just a phase. You’ll grow out of it. You’ll keep getting older and things will calm down.

Then one day you told me you couldn’t get a thought out of your head.

Now, let me put this in context.  You’ve grown. You are strong and fast, talented in anything that requires athletic ability.  You still feel deeply, you still find your heart-broken more than you’d like.  You want things your way and you hate criticism.

Like me.

You have made friends and lost them.  People have cycled in and out of your life. The day you told me you couldn’t get a thought out of your head, it stands out now.  At the time, I tried to avoid it.

Then it got worse.

You obsessed over thoughts and feelings, things that weren’t right.  Your worry started to take over your life. Things that were easy weren’t easy anymore. We went to the doctor and we tried and your mom and I still told ourselves that this too will pass.

The other night we were looking at a math homework sheet and you were having trouble focusing.  I asked you what was going through your mind. You looked at me and said things were all “scribbly”. I still hear you saying it.

I want you to know something.

It will all work out.  Your mother and I are here for you.  You are still that kid that I held in the hospital.  You are still busy and you still feel deeply.  Whatever is going on in your head is real and, even though we’ve waited five years, it may not be going away.

So we will get you help. We will stand by you as your mom and dad.  We will give you the support you need in school and outside of school.

We will do this for you and we will be your advocates.  We will be on your team and we will attack this stuff now and get it knocked down and manageable.  We will get you your life back.

We will pray for you.  Everyday.

We will talk to the doctor, the therapist, anyone we need to get a team around you to help you because we can’t do it alone.

Carter, I love you more than you’ll ever know.  I’m typing this at my desk taking breaks between paragraphs to wipe away the tears and hope that no one notices.

I’m sorry for my frustrations, my irritation, my anger.  I owe you more than this.  I owe you a better father and better role model. You deserve a better man than me to follow.

But I promise you, today, I’m going to work on it, to get better, to be that father you deserve.

Just know I’m sorry.  I’m here for you.  I’m still holding you 9 years later and you’re still looking up at me and I promise things will get better.

We’ll do this, as a family.

Love,

Your dad.

To My Son on Turning 8

Dear Carter,

Your labor wasn’t easy for mom.  Thirty-seven hours. Three visits to the hospital over the weekend before she was admitted. You tried for a regular birth but just couldn’t make it out.  The doctor had to go get you.

I remember, before he did, standing in the room with mom and the doctor watching the screen showing your pulse as it climbed and fell.   The air was thick, the lights unforgiving.

He stood and said they were doing a C Section and, in the middle of August, you arrived.

I was the first one to hold you.  Mom was in recovery and they wheeled you out to me.  We sat on a chair in the room with the television playing in the background just after midnight.  You didn’t cry.  We had peace.

You ended up in the NICU with an infection and, a few days later, we took you home.

I still look at that picture of the day you got home and wonder where the years have gone.

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You ran before you walked.  You woke at the first hint of a ray of sunshine and we spent many mornings on the couch at 6 am watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.

I remember you starting preschool and, eventually, elementary school.  I remember dropping you off that day and crying at how much you’d grown and how, for the first time, you were in other hands.

I’ve watched you grow into a blonde ball of energy. Strong and strong-willed. You are my athlete, sensitive and caring. You have your mother’s big heart, even if you don’t know it yet.

Great things are coming for you. New experiences and learning, new friends and activities. I wish you joy as you learn more about who you are.

I’m sorry for not being the perfect dad, for the days where my energy doesn’t match your own and my patient is spent. I’m trying my best and will keep working to do better. I want you to be as proud of me as I am of you.

Your world will only get bigger and wider. You will keep learning.  You will inherit the good and bad from my generation and you’ll need to handle it with strength that will come from these years.

You will know the love of Jesus, of community and service.  You’ll meet an amazing woman and find yourself with a family one day.  You’ll call mom and I when your son has jumped off the couch for the 1000th time after you said not to do it and you’ll ask us how we managed.

I’ll hand her the phone and laugh.

Happy Birthday son,

Matt

 

 

The Greatest Gifts

Thursday morning I was getting ready to leave for work, gathering my stuff in the kitchen.

“Daddy,” Aiden called from the living room. “Daddy. Daddy. Daddy sit. Daddy sit.”

He was sitting on one of the dining room chairs and patting the spot next to him. I sat down and folded my hands.  He did the same and looked at me with a smile.  He had just turned two years old at the beginning of the month.

As I drove to work, I thought about his birth.  Carter was an emergency C-section and I was unable to be in the room.  Aiden was different, a scheduled procedure, and I had a chance to be at Val’s side.  They completed a second C-section procedure and started cleaning him off.  I watched from across the surgical suite.

They hooked him to an oxygen monitor.  His blood oxygen levels started normal and, gradually, dropped.  The nurses called in a NICU doctor for consultation.  She arrived, watched the monitor, listened to his lungs, and said they were sending him to the NICU.  He had fluid in his lungs and stomach, the product of not having it squeezed out during labor.

In a moment, our second son had ended up in the NICU, just like our first.

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Photo Credit: bookgrl via Compfight cc

Carter and Aiden both recovered from their challenging deliveries. I took Aiden Christmas shopping with me today and, as he grows, I’m always struck by the passage of time. In this season where we focus on giving, we can get caught up in the rush and forget about what truly matters.

We are blessed to have each other, our families, and the chance to chase our dreams and make a difference.  As you go through this week, this last mad rush to get things done for Thursday, make sure you take the time to enjoy it.  Remember the hard times and celebrate the blessings, the small victories, and the opportunity to do it all again tomorrow.

~Matt