A Precious Memory

(I wrote this to my oldest son, Michael, Jr. on his birthday)

It is hard to imagine you were born 39 years ago. Am I that old? Are you that old?! Shazzam!

It was a night I'll never forget. Let me start by saying the years we were together, your Mom was her prettiest the year she was pregnant with you. Women often bloom when pregnant, and she surely did. And bless her heart, but she looked her worst after those so many hours in labor. Poor gal was a wreck. I'm sure she never worked harder before or after that night! How long she was in labor, I actually forget. It could have been 36 hours, but that's really not important now. It's behind us, and you are living proof.
It probably wouldn't warm the cockles of her heart to remember that during labor, I would leave the labor room with the attending intern, and go back to the lounge with him to catch the latest "Starsky and Hutch" episode. Isn't that awful? But since I was not the best "coach," I knew no better. I suppose I was even lucky to be in the labor room. These were the beginning years when fathers were just starting to accompany their wives in the delivery room, and her doctor, Dr. Linton, was one who fought that practice.

After so many hours though, we (Ma and me) got to worry; more me than her. She wouldn't let on anything to alarm me. She was super proud. Her first Grandchild is coming, and in the hospital where she spent her whole nursing career. She knew most of the nurses, so you were really "a happening event" that day at Baptist Hospital.

There was no warning. I do not even remember seeing the doctor that night till right before they took your Mom to the OR. I'd gone out to the nurse's station to give Ma an update. Wasn't there but a few minutes, when the elevator doors opened down the hall, and a whole team of doctors, nurses and technicians got off and rushed quickly through the doors toward the delivery room. By the time I got there, your Mom had been wheeled out to the hall, and was waiting to be wheeled into the OR. I'm told they've tried for as long as possible for a natual delivery, but now must do a C-section.

This is where I get scared; really scared. It has been a long nine months, and all the grand and exciting feelings of becoming a father are washed away in one fleeting moment, as I watch them wheel your Mom away to a place that had just as well have been in another world. I did not know whether either of you wouild come back to me. I was lost. Giving Ma this latest information, I hunted a private place, finding solace alone behind closed doors in a stairway; just me and God. Soon there were three, for Ma soon found me, and pray we did as Ma held me as I cried, and God held her while she cried I'm sure inside. She was the strong one that night.

We got tough there in the stairwell after what wasn't too awful long. Wiping away the tears and put that smile on for the world to see, we come back to the nurse's station and our little "support group." Next thing I know, one of the nurses comes running down the hall from delivery. I remember seeing her bobbing head through the door glass, and praise be, for she's smiling! That smile light up the world for me. When I get to the door, I see she's running with you in her arms!! God above, but I've never been so happy for all is well! Your Mom is OK, and you are a big long bundle of joy!

Thinking back, I don't suppose the nurse never was actually running down the hall, but she was moving at a good clip. And I don't even think she should have had you out of the delivery room or nursery right yet, but she was one of Ma's friends and she had to "show you off" to every one. Let me say you did look a bit odd to me. You were a "cone head" if ever there was one; evidence that you were in the birth canal for quite a while. There was a little scratch on your cheek too, which I didn't really pay attention to at the moment. It was from the forceps, when the doctor tried to pull you through the "keyhole." You carry that mark still today; your birthmark. And you know how we Browns love to mock people in humor. Well, for the first month or so, when you'd get excited like a baby will do and grin, and wave your arms and legs, only one side would wave! The other side either didn't move or only slightly moved. In true Brown form, I'd mock you and wave one arm and leg and smile and coo back at you. It got better after a month or so, and had I entered you in a turtle race in the sand, you'd have gone a straight line, not the circle you would have cut the first few weeks. Ma told me months later that every time I mocked you, she feared the worse, expecting the lack of movement as evidence of nerve damage from the protracted delivery.

This was yesterday, September 17, 2011; a "Precious Memory" I'll hold dear always. The rivers we've crossed have run fast and deep since that day, and oh but the stories we can tell. May this be the first of many precious memories.

I love you.
Dad