Time is such a weird thing.
So often our days feel long and I find myself counting the minutes until bedtime. While some moments seem to last forever, others go all too quickly. And sometimes everything changes in an instant.
I've been a bit lost in time this week, memories and worries swirling around me as real as the spring breeze coming in through my window. I've been living here and now but also in a bunch of other times and places.
One of those is my son's birth. Six years ago next week, the Adorable Boy burst into the world four weeks too early, a huge preemie at 7 1/2 pounds. His lungs weren't fully developed and he spent six days in the NICU, chubby feet hanging out over the edge of his incubator as he learned to breathe on his own.
Time moved fast and slow during those days as Shane and I went back and forth to the hospital. I remember so much SO vividly. The confusion in the delivery room when doctors whisked him away for treatment. The pain of my uterus contracting as I pumped milk in a NICU chair watching the baby I couldn't hold sleep nearby. The joy on the girl's face as she met "Brother" for the first time.
Those hard days ended happily with a strong, healthy baby boy coming home with us, growing into the wild man we know and love. Tomorrow we will celebrate his birthday with 21 friends from school in a Pokemon-themed party fit for a Kardashian. ;) It will be a happy, crazy day. But I'll also be thinking about those days at the beginning of his life, when we weren't sure what the future held. I'll be sending gratitude out to the universe for allowing me the joy of raising this little man. For gifting us our Will...incredibly now six years ago.
My mind's been stuck in another minute too, this one more recent. Last week, in the blink of an eye, our Wednesday went from a regular day to an emergency event. The girl, dressed in her white Tae Kwon Do uniform, crushed her finger in a bedroom door, and the injury was severe enough to send us to the ER. That half-second mishap turned into 24 hours of medical care, including a minor surgery that required the girl to go under general anesthesia.
She's fine. The finger is fine. And the cast on her hand -- which she calls Tom -- comes off next Friday. We're no worse for the wear, but oh did that wear do a number on us. Her injury was, amazingly, the first to send one of our kids to the ER. It was the first time I've had to stand by someone's side as they were put to sleep for surgery. The first time I had to sit in a waiting room away from my child, trusting her life to the professionals. It was really, really hard.
We were treated well, taken care of kindly and graciously -- and we won't pay a dime for the medical care the girl received. We have nothing but good things to say about New Zealand's healthcare system. The Adorable Girl has all her fingers, all her sass and will still test for a Yellow belt tonight in her Tae Kwon Do class. Life goes on happily, despite the minor derailment. But getting back on track can be hard in itself.
Our little adventure reminded me of one of life's truths: You never know what the next minute will bring. You can only hope that if things fall apart, you can find a way to put them back together. Of course, that's not always the case. You can't always Bandaid the wound or patch up the loss. Sometimes you have to continue on looking for a new normal.
20 years ago today, I saw my dad leave the house to head to work and I never saw him again. He died at work that day, for reasons that are still confusing and a bit mysterious to me. I really don't know what happened to Bill Neff. But I do know that moment changed everything.
My life was never the same. I was never the same. And it took many years for me to put myself back together after the trauma of his loss. That grief is something I still struggle with, though instead of it being a daily or weekly presence it crops up only now and then, when something reminds me of him, when I mark another year without him.
20 years. I'm amazed it's been that long. I was 15 when he died. I've now lived more of my life without him. College, marriage, career, children. My dad missed all of it.
I wish I could share some wise words, make sense of these moments swirling in my head, overlapping and bumping into each other and making me write a really depressing blog post. ;) But I don't feel very wise about any of it. I don't feel sad either.
Life is hard. I've known that a long time. Even a good life is hard. And we have a good life. :)
I do my best to hang on to the now, to squeeze it with both hands until it oozes between my fingers and I feel I've made the most of my minute. But I also don't feel ashamed for wishing the minutes between 8 and 8:30 could tick a little faster every night. I do my best not to worry about what's to come, knowing I can't stop that door from closing on that finger, I can't stop my dad from leaving for work...as much as I wish I could. But I also know that worry is a natural part of being a parent, of being a human and it will always take up space in my brain.
If life has taught me anything, it's that time goes on. That's really all it does. Baby boys become big boys. Some wounds heal and some wounds don't. Life goes on sometimes long after we lose those we love -- and somehow we find a way to keep living it.
