Forever and For Always

 

I was supposed to be in the delivery room.  It was all planned – supporting her through the process and watching the baby be born.  I sat up with her in the living room most of the night, trying to help but feeling entirely powerless as I watched my daughter in pain. Moving an 8-pound baby out of your body is a lonely job, no matter how many people are nearby.  I dozed for a bit, and then my daughter was saying “It’s time to go” and we were off in a rush.  The wheelchair that awaited us at the hospital door whisked her along to labor and delivery, with me close on her wheels.  A room filled with light and helpful friendly nurses did not hide the fact that something was not going quite right.  I watched, remembering her older brother and the long painful process of labor before an emergency C-Section brought all 10 pounds, 15 ounces of him into the world.  My grandson was taking his time making his entrance – and in a strangely ironic turn of events – the doctor decided that  my daughter also needed a last-minute C-section.  So I could not be there to greet my grandson  – to see his first breath – to hear his first cry or see my daughter's joy when she saw her son for the first time. I sat dejectedly in the waiting room with his other grandparents – anxious, worried and wallowing in my disappointment.  I had never actually seen a delivery firsthand, since I was sedated when my son was born and didn’t get to see him until many hours later. Complications during the surgery when my daughter was delivered by C-section gave me only a brief glimpse of my beautiful baby girl before she was carried off to the nursery.  Watching this delivery of my very first grandchild was a dream come true for me;  a dream that was not meant to be.

After what seemed forever, a tired but happy Daddy came out to the waiting room and invited me to be the first to meet this brand-new shiny soul named Sebastian Phoenix.  The nurse lead me to the nursery, pointed out an infant warmer, and a quiet gasp escaped my lips as I looked at the huge dark blotch around the baby's eye and down the entire side of his face.  Was this some kind of giant birthmark – or was there something wrong with my sweet baby boy?  It only took an instant to look beyond the blotch and see the gorgeous creature that lay in that clear bassinette. The immense love I had felt for him from the moment I knew he existed in his mother’s womb washed over me.  Then the nurse blurted out that our boy had been tightly wedged behind his mother’s pelvis and had to be pulled out with forceps.  The big purple splotch was a bruise – he was going to be just fine! 

Left alone with him, I gazed in wonder at this miracle before me. His half Columbian heritage was evident in his thick dark hair, but the pale skin was all his mother.  I reached out and reverently touched his leg – his  tummy – then his tiny perfect fingers.  As I stood in complete adoration -  he wrapped his sweet brand-new precious hand around my finger and held on.  A flash of joy shot through my body  and as tears of happiness flowed down my face, a forever connection was formed that still exists 15 years later.  It is a memory of total happiness indelibly etched in my mind.

There is a song from the musical "Mame," when Mame is singing to her nephew Patrick. "You're my best beau; you're handsome and brave and stong, there's nothing we two can't face... and if some day another beau comes along, determined to take your place, I hope he's resigned to fall in behind, my best beau."  I have sung this song to Sebstian all of his life, and  my nickname for him is Best Beau.  If someday, I grow old and senile; if I can’t remember where I am or what year it is or the names of any of the people I love, I am certain I will still remember the ecstasy of my sweet Best Beau's tiny fingers wrapped around mine – holding on tight to someone who will love and accept him exactly as he is, forever and for always!

LAE  3-4-22