a note to sam

Dear Sam,
What I’m writing will not mean much to you right now, but just give it a few years. Not too many, but a few. After you’ve learned the joys of reading, but long before you’ve reached the age of proving and pushing away childhood years. Oh, somewhere in between the back-and-forth patterns of caring and not caring. Somewhere along the way, this might grow to mean something to you.
As you’ll soon learn, most people would love to be able to recall the day they were born. Through no fault of their own, however, it ends up being an impossible task. People are helped along, though, from the stories of parents, other relatives and friends. These people help piece together one of the greatest questions you or anyone else may have about life.
You will hear several different versions of the story from several perspectives. Here’s my story about the events that occurred one year ago today, or actually, let’s back up a bit and start with the night before the day you were born.
I was walking down the paved road leading to my house when I was suddenly jolted to awareness by a text message from your mom. It was around 8 p.m. and she told me she was getting ready to go into delivery and that pretty soon, you should be coming right on out. I told her to keep me posted and then contacted your grandparents and uncle and told them to do the same. We were all on baby watch and expected you to arrive at any moment.
Around midnight, sleep was still far away and I was very antsy. I had sent the message that I wanted to be contacted the minute you were born and I became paranoid that my watch group feared they’d wake me. My head hit the pillow around 1 a.m., but I never slept. I checked the phone constantly hoping I’d hear something.
When the sun came up and I still hadn’t heard a word, I panicked. I paced the driveway fearing something horrible had happened. I tried to will the phone to ring and finally it did. The person on the other end of the line was your grandmother. She started out with, “Have you heard anything?” to which I replied, “What? You mean you haven’t heard? I thought you were calling to tell me something.”
In a voice beginning to show fear and concern she admitted, “I haven’t heard a thing. I was hoping you had.”
So we immediately organized a plan. You see, we just weren’t going to wait on you anymore. Your grandma got the directions and packed the car, we stopped by Papa’s hardware store and we jetted off.
Not too far into the next county, your mom called and gave us the news of your birth. As any good mother would do, she spared no details and we were no longer driven by panic and fear. Our sails were now guided by an indescribable longing just to see you.
We alternated driving and arrived at the hospital in record time. I actually think that once we stepped off the elevator, we just floated to your room. Our hearts were pounding and it was almost impossible to breathe as we found the door with your name on it, pushed it open and saw you for the first time.
You were a long little thing. A baby WNBA player to be sure. You were wrapped up like a tiny cocoon and as you were passed around from person to person, you put the same expression of happiness and wonder on each face. Your mom and dad glowed through intense exhaustion. Your grandpa came, held you and you responded as if you already knew him. Your grandma expertly handled you and you knew her instantly. The camera already loved you and you knew it.
Your uncle called and I tried my best to describe every detail about you, but it was nearly impossible.
As I helped your dad bring in some supplied for you and your mom, I asked him what it felt like to be a daddy and he beamed some more.
Then your grandma and I slipped away. We decided we’d had enough magic for one day and we wanted you to get to know your mom and dad better in the first few hours after your birth.
One year later, today, I remember everything. I remember the worry, the wait, the fear and anxiety and ultimately the relief, the joy and the knowledge that I’d been a small part of something miraculous.
You are a miracle and I can’t wait to see the happiness you’ll bring to everyone in the future.
Happy birthday!

3 responses to “a note to sam

  1. Pingback: to sam, from auntie scout « Finnspace

  2. This is so sweet. Again with the tears over here! Yes, I know it was torture waiting wasn’t it? A testament to my long labor!!! Ahhhhh! Thanks for this sis. See you very soon!

  3. Oh yes, I remember the day well, just not WHICH day it was. GranMaw Finn thought maybe Sam’s birthday was tomorrow. GranPaw Finn says I told him last week that today was the day. I say there’s no way I said that because I couldn’t remember if it was the 24th, 25th, or 26th. He says, Well who told me then? I insisted it wasn’t me. He says…

    Oh well, happy birthday anyway! Lovely Post. See all tomorrow.

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