My son is 32 today. Unbelievable. I felt like crying all day today at work because I haven't seen him or had a conversation with him in so long--eight months. Not for lack of trying. He is in his own world, whatever is going on for him means there is no time for me even for a phone call. I can't believe how much it hurts. He lives in the next town, practically. But today I tried not to dwell in self-pity, even though I kept wanting to cry. I tried to be grateful that he is alive, because where there's life there's hope. How incredibly horrendous for people whose children have died. So even though I kept hearing the words in my head "I'm the saddest mother in the world" I knew it wasn't true. The saddest mother is possibly someone in the Congo who was attacked and raped and had to watch her children tortured and raped and possibly murdered. So many horrible things in the world. I'm happy to know my son is alive and pretty healthy.
I texted him today again, wishing him a happy birthday. And a miracle--he answered my text. He said he was busy tonight but he would give me a call and loves me. It kind of turned my day around! Even though I know I might not get that call for some time, it still felt good. I texted back and told him even though I was sad not to talk to him or see him I was glad he was alive. Then he answwered THAT text and said he was glad to be alive too! He said he was having a good day, so getting older wasn't bothering him too much. Sweet.
The day he was born, it was night really, and we lived in the Berkshires and it was in the middle of a snowstorm. I'd been doing Lamaze training with a woman who was going to be my coach during the birth because his father was old school and didn't want to go into the delivery room with me. Anyway, the storm was terrible and we had to pick up my coach on the way to the hospital. It was late, and my doctor wasn't on call. I had a different doctor, the one I liked the least. And he said my labor wasn't really hard labor (seemed pretty damn hard to me) but there was no way we were going home. They started inducing. It seemed like it took forever. But he was born and it was mostly natural. There was some problem that I was unaware of--his cord was knotted at his neck and it took them a while to get him to breathe. His father heard them saying, "Breathe baby, breathe!" I luckily didn't hear this. They got him breathing though, and he got washed up and laid on me to try to feed (as I had requested). There was a moment when he opened up his eyes and just looked at me. We just grokked each other, if I can use a nerdy sci fi term, it seems the only one that applies. It was an "I thou" moment. My coach noticed the connection and commented on it.
He was a beautiful baby. I don't know how to describe him. Babies seem to take so much of us when we're mothering them, there's no way to step back and observe. But here's how it felt to me: he was beautiful, solid, headstrong, forceful, intelligent, tempermental, calm, spiritual, rambunctious, hungry. He was a force that entered our lives and made himself known. And yet he had an inner quiet that almost seemed like an old soul was in him. It all sounds so corny. I don't know how to describe someone I love so much, with all my heart.