I know you must be terrified right now, but trying hard not to be. You're bringing a new life into the world right now. I can't even begin to imagine what you must be feeling. Your whole world is focused on you at this moment. You and the life that is about to emerge from you. I've been in the room to witness this miracle on numerous occasions, even helped to bring little babies into the world with my own two hands, but I've never been the person upon whom all of the pressure and pain rests. And even though you've been through this experience before, a new life holds all of the same risks and questions and doubts as the one before, and so you are as terrified as you were the first time. That's okay.
Add to this miraculous moment the tremendous amount of expectation, as the sex of the baby has not yet been revealed. Just like the other musician in the family, you've always been one to go for the dramatic flare, sister, and so you have tortured yourself for months, playing through all of the scenarios in your head, and for both ends of the chromosome. I know how the mental games go. I've been through them myself. And I know what a long wait this has been. You've wondered how this new life with interact with you, with your husband, with your daughter. You've wondered if this life will have any life threatening health issues. You've wondered whether this child will one day abandon you for something or someone else. These are the daily quiet terrors of the expectant mother. You are not alone.
I am burdened for you tonight. I'm burdened for everyone in your family. A single thought pierced through my thoughts as I paced the grass behind my house, where you once lived. I happened to look down at my watch and noticed that it was exactly midnight. 12:00 AM, Thursday, November 21, 2013. It was the exact moment that your child's birth day began. From today until the day that this child breathe's their last, this date will be etched into their mind and the minds of everyone who ever loves them. I thought about the fact that I, the child's uncle, was aware of this moment, and in such awe of it. Yet no one will ever know, or care. Unless I choose to speak.
My thoughts went from this realization to that of knowing that throughout its life, this child born today will likely never know the full truth of their uncles, Lee and Robert. Both the baby and their sister Rory will only ever be told the accepted half-truth of the situation, not the whole truth. Just enough to pacify their curiosity. Just enough to recall by rote. Just enough to get by. Just as we both did as children, never looking farther into our parent's pasts than we considered necessary. Why bother? They loved us now, and thats all that mattered. It's a difficult truth to weigh in your mind, but a solid truth nonetheless.
And what a shame that is. This child will never know that their Uncle Lee paced his deck for hours on the first moments of their birth day and thought of nothing but them being born. Why would that be an important message to pass on to your child? It can survive without it, right? Sure it can. None of us ever really questioned why Uncle Tim never came to Thanksgiving. None of us ever probed too hard into Mom's life before her courtship with Dad. That would hurt them too much, and it would hurt our image of them, too. So we left it at the situation's least volatile state, and mutually agreed to let our lives go undisturbed. That's just the nature of growing up.
I grimace inwardly, though, when I consider all the moments lost by the result of this mess going on right now within our family. All of the birthday parties unattended. All of the Christmas mornings not shared. All of the photographs not taken. All because of this: an emotional reaction to an emotional circumstance that happened many years before they had a say in the matter. How you explain all of this to your children is none of my business, but I do pity your position, sister. I don't know if they'll ever truly understand. They very well may just write it off as we did with our extended family growing up. I have no doubt that your children will still all be wonderful people when they grow up. I'm excited for that. I will just wish I had known them all along.
I don't know who I will be to your children in the future. Perhaps I will be the Uncle Al of Christmas, who bestows wonderful gifts from a mysterious distance. Perhaps I will be the Uncle Dale, a wonderfully kind man and friend of Dad's, and yet only ever present at Thanksgiving for a slice of pie. Or maybe I will fulfill the legacy of Uncle Tim, who never showed his face at all. I don't know. I will be whatever uncle you want me to be, honestly. No matter how many times they ask about Dr. and Mrs. Folk, who live just across town from them, I will always respect your wishes. The ball is always in your court.
I do hope you figure out the parental control settings on your Internet browsing before they reach the age of 16, though, because this blog will be posted for the the world to see from today until the day they inevitably read about their uncle's love for them. This is my birthday gift to them. I love them because they are my family. Pure and simple. At this poinnt, it does not mean more than that, but it certainly won't ever mean any less.
So I will keep pacing over my little piece of the planet tonight, wondering about the life that lies ahead of your child. I wish only the best for their lifelong happiness. I'm confident they are going to enrich the lives of everyone around them. It's in our blood to do so.
Please, when they are old enough, I hope you tell them about the night of their birth. You can tell them it was perfectly clear, ablaze with stars and the brilliant light from three-quarters of a harvest moon. And to my recollection, I can't ever remember standing within such an absolute dead calm. I will take this as a sign for the life that is entering our world today. A life both of peace and of light. May they be that and much more to you in the days ahead.
Remember to take deep breaths. Hold on to Ken's hand. And when they tell you to push......well, you know what to do.
Best of luck, Sis.
Your brother,
Lee
