It was August 25th, Lauren and her two sisters went out for pedicures that day as a little treat to themselves before Lauren was scheduled to be induced on the 30th which left me to assist my brother-in-law, James, to babysit he and Camille's children. I don't mind watching these two little ones as they were both the catalysts for Lauren and I wanting to begin our very own family (not to mention Adam, whom is almost 4 now is a absolutely halarious).
James was tending to Ellinor for the majority of the day while Adam and I were either watching Overhaulin' reruns on Netflix, taking small naps, eating Lunchables, having swordfights or playing with cars. The day according to me was going pretty well. So well, in fact that 6 hours flew by so quickly I had to get Adam to go wake James and Ellie up from their nap so they get could themselves (an 8 month old, 3 year old and a 30-something year old man) ready for my oldest nephew's birthday party at Mt. Fuji (a local hibachi grill) within a 35 minute time frame! EEK!
First up for a bath was Ellinor. James got her all cleaned up and tidy, dressed her up and then put her down for a nap. Then came Adam which was fairly straightforward except his involved more singing and dancing while bathing (from what I heard). Last but not least was Brother James. Time was narrowing but things still looked hopeful for a prompt arrival. While James was in the shower Adam was running about the house when Ellie awoke from her nap in a loud torturous scream.
I know a portion of parenting requires you to let children remain still in their sadness or their solitude, but I am just too tender hearted to do such yet. Maybe it's abandonment issues, maybe it's the fact that the first time I saw Bambi when I was six years old I was the only boy in class that was crying when he lost his parents (also one of the reasons I'm not a hunter) in after-school daycare. Who deserves to have their parents taken away from them in the name of sport? I don't take pleasure in someone's sorrow or sadness because I when I see that flood of hopelessness it reminds me of my suffering and it saddens me. All that being said, my first instinct was to run to her and provide what solace I could for her. I am not her father, her mother or her brother. I am not a constant familiarity to her. I see her on a weekly basis and when I do I treasure those moments, but I am a person who loves her and other people recognize love no matter the source and that comforts me. It was almost instantaneous that her weeping ceased as soon as she entered my arms and was lifted over those crib rails. Was it love she felt? Was it comfort? Was it the warmth of familiarity? Her sadness was temporarily lifted and that brought me peace.
Adam soon after prompted me with a request. "Chris, can we go outside?" Who was I to object a such a simple petition from a dear child? "Of course! Just go tell your Dad so he won't worry where we are." I replied. Adam at my side (his sword in his hands) and Ellie nestled in my arms, we ventured out onto the lawn to discover what sights there were to see. The first thing we happened upon was what I assumed to be a mockingbird in a bush with a damaged wing. I'm no ornithologist, but I've seen birds with afflictions as such before in my time. Adam in his curiosity wanted to venture nearer which to me was strange because he has always had a fear of birds. Maybe it was the fact that he knew it was weakened he wasn't as afraid of it. Maybe that realization made the bird seem more like him and less like the majestic creatures we know them to be. BIRDS CAN FLY. Let me say that again. BIRDS. CAN. FLY. They were created with an internal armature that was designed so perfectly that not only are they able to sustain flight with limited movement but a density that allows them to glide across air. It took man THOUSANDS of years to create machines that mimic that action and these creatures have been here since the dawn of man. (Sorry about that ramble, if these posts continue you better get used to this kind of jabber.)
Oh yeah, so Adam wants to approach the wounded bird but I advise him not to do so. Instantly he wants to know "why?" And I tell him this, "birds just like people need space and time to heal." His reply was a simple "okay." OKAY. Without question he understood what I was saying and respected that. A child not yet of four years old was able to comprehend that healing takes time and space. Unfathomable. So bird in the bush aside Ellinor was content looking around the expanse of the yard and into the sky. As we walked underneath a tree next to the driveway she became enamored with the leaves that brushed against her face. The sunlight was glinting through the branches and the leaves soft in texture were luminous with the radiance of the sun. She was perfectly content looking at them and moving her fingertips across them. Adam was at my feet studying the bark of the tree with intense curiosity. There I was with two children (not my own) and seemed perfectly capable of relating to them while making sure they were safe from harm. Then I realized two things immediately after... I was born to do this but I would never get to be this kind of parent with Evan.
After that realization it was hard to carry on with the same high spirits I had earlier in the day. My hope was waning and I felt weary. We ventured back into the house and James had exited the shower dressed and ready for departure. So as he got them into the car seats in his car I got into mine and pulled away from the driveway. Some days I drive in silence, no music or chatter around me with hopes that I can hear God's voice a little clearer but that day my thoughts were too loud to hear him. The best way to describe it?
cacophony |kəˈkäfənē|
noun ( pl. cacophonies )
a harsh, discordant mixture of sounds: a cacophony of deafening alarm bells
In light of this I was looking towards one person to offer me some comfort other than God in this situation. Hello, Garrison Keillor! If you recognize the name you already know he is the host and author of NPR's Prairie Home Companion. If you are unfamiliar with the program I STRONGLY encourage you to listen to it sometime over a slice of warm pie and nice mild coffee (or beer, or bourbon if you're into that sort of thing). It's a little piece of Americana that gives us a look into yesteryear in the hustle and bustle of the 21st century, like Cracker Barrel (I miss you Country Ham).
So as I turned up the volume dial and was nearing my destination Garrison Keillor was speaking to a person who was the "ghost" of F. Scott Fitzgerald and was reflecting on the author's body of work when he came to a quote I have never heard before. Here's a transcript of the segment I caught:
TR (FITZ): Oh. It’s strange what people remember.
GK: And people quote that line: “In a real dark night of the soul it is always three o' clock in the morning, day after day.”
TR (FITZ): Really-----
GK: From The Crack-Up.
TR (FITZ): I know where it’s from.
GK: Sorry, I was just trying to be helpful-----
TR (FITZ): I know my own work. I’ve had 70 years to look it over.
GK: Of course, sorry.
I laughed and pondered. “In a real dark night of the soul it is always three o' clock in the morning, day after day.” What did Fitzgerald mean by that? Was it about eternal sadness in the human heart? Why 3 o'clock and not midnight? Is it actually darker at 3 a.m. than any other time? Is it really true that it is darkest before dawn? What did he mean? What prompted Fitzgerald to write this?
I had forgotten about this quote until August 27th, at 3:00 o'clock in the morning. Then I wept.
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