YOU REMEMBER THINGS LIKE THAT

We’d left her at the hospital… she was desperately needing rest. Life had been moving at warp speed for a few weeks, milestones in life coming at us like waves on the beach during surf season in the Pacific. You remember things like that.

She’d graduated with her masters degree three weeks before that trip to the hospital. She’d been working full-time as an RN at the same hospital where she lay as I penned this post. Her youngest sister graduated from high school the week before and we’d thrown her a graduation party that conveniently landed on the day of her eighteenth birthday the night before.

Life is funny like that; we can live our lives with subtle changes and then in a matter of what seems like days, everything changes… permanently.

Our youngest graduated from a private school that she’d attended for fifteen years, counting the couple years of pre-Kindergarten. She can’t remember her life without that school. I remember her learning Bible verses as a pre-schooler. I thought they’d raised the bar way too high when she was required to memorize the 23rd Psalm in Kindergarten.

Now she’s done. Our youngest will go to the second school in her life; college. A birthday/graduation party last night for the youngest, and a trip to the hospital today for the oldest.

We didn’t know she was going to have a boy, that was a surprise, the baby wasn’t. She had to have a C-section, due to the baby being breach, but he’s healthy and she’s recovering.

Braxton Michael Siemion            June 4th 2016

Braxton Michael Siemion
June 4th 2016

We left her, her husband, and the addition to our family resting at the hospital, I suspected a metaphorical wrestling match over the boy’s name was in the works. My wife and middle daughter were out shopping for baby boy’s clothes. The exhausted youngest went home with me. She slept. I pondered… and wrote.

I felt happy, relieved, tired… and once it began to sink in, a touch of sadness. I flipped on the house music, the seventies station thumped out songs from my youth as I pondered the newest chapter in our lives.

As I thought and processed emotions, I glimpsed it, I grasped it… and when I turned back around to get my bearings… the door was closed. That chapter of our lives is finished forever.

Like all my writing, that last chapter too had flaws, it wasn’t perfect. It isn’t for any of us. I thought about this day, but I never could grasp the reality of it… just like I couldn’t fully grasp the baby in our oldest baby’s arms. Just like thinking about her being a momma, but not fully grasping it until living the reality of seeing a mother’s love in her eyes.

June 3rd, 1998, it was a cool day, oddly cool for Arizona. You remember things like that. The baby born that day, via a C-section too, is an aunt today.

June 4th, 2016, it’s hot, record heat. You remember things like that… even after the door has been closed on a chapter of your life.

I prayed for God to guide and bless that boy every single day, and chapter, of his life. May he remember things like that.