To Our Son Gregory on the eve of his 13th Birthday. Thought you might like to read about the account of your birth...on that beautiful Sunday morning, you blessed our lives.
Comforts of Home, Revisited
by
Roland Tolliver
A child was born the other day,
He came into the world in the usual way. Harry Chapin
It started with a tap on the shoulder, rousing me from a deep, comfortable slumber. Actually, it started nine months earlier. Labor had begun in earnest about 11:30 p.m. on Saturday night. It was now about 1:45 a.m. on Sunday and Irena needed my assistance as the contractions became stronger.
We've been through this before. Four times to be exact. Once in the hospital and three time in three different homes. Yes, we are in a new home as of last May. I guess we have a strange way of initiating our new homes.
Our four daughters slept through most of the night, leaving us undisturbed. I called the midwife at about a quarter to five and she was there by fifteen minutes after six. Previous experience led us to believe that our new baby would be here before too long.
I tried to concentrate on the task at hand. The questions kept cropping up, however. Everyone had asked, "Are you hoping for a boy?". With everything that has happened with our six-year-old, Claire, I was serious when I replied, " It doesn't matter. I just want it to be healthy." When you have all daughters, just about everyone thinks that you are "trying for a boy" with any subsequent pregnancies. The question persists even in this enlightened day. Our daughters are as valuable to us as any children, whatever gender, could possibly be. We'll keep all four of them just as they are.
The contractions were closer together now and more intense. The warm bath seemed to help. I could only offer moral support and a hand to squeeze when needed.
Who would God bless us with this time? I remembered that someone once said, "Our destinies are determined by the questions we ask." I still had so many. We still hadn't come to a conclusion about a girl's name. Finally, about four o'clock, we had decided on Emma May. We had vacillated between three or four names. A boy's name was easy. We had decided that years ago. Are there any certainties in life? Which name would we need this time?
I continued to wonder, what will the world be like for our child? Will he or she be able to know the freedoms that we have taken for granted? What has happened to the last twelve years since our daughter, Mary, was born? She is on the verge of becoming a young woman. Is that really possible? Can Veronica be almost ten? Wasn't she just a two-year-old a few days ago? Claire, you’ve lived a lifetime of trials in your six short years. What does the future hold in store for you? Teresa, I know you were just born yesterday. Has it been almost three years since you greeted us on New Year's Day? The days seem to go by slowly, but the years.... Where are they going? Do they have to be in such a hurry?
"Breathe, Irena, breathe," was the constant reminder. Pain and pleasure. Two sides of the same coin. Women go through the pain of labor to enjoy the pleasure of seeing their newborn children. We go through pain in life, which allows us to realize the pleasures. The infinite wisdom in our universe is that both are there for us. Night and day. Winter and Summer. Pain and pleasure. Death and life.
I don't know why I was thinking of the poor, tortured children in Wisconsin. The little girl that had been locked in the dog cage. The boy in Indiana, who was repeatedly locked in the closet. The girl chained up in her room in California. The babies murdered in New Jersey and in Freeport. What could these people be thinking? Adults who were supposed to take care of the lives that placed their trust in them had become traitors to the sanctity of human life. We have looked forward to each new gift, waiting with open arms. We try not to judge. Understanding is beyond our comprehension in some of these cases.
"Al, come quick. The water bag just broke," our midwife yelled down to me, as I was fixing breakfast for our two younger daughters.
I ran up the stairs. I caught the baby's head. The eyes were open and appeared to be surveying the new surroundings. Then we heard sounds like someone was talking. The girls had entered the room and we thought it was Teresa. The baby was gurgling as if saying, "You can let me out any time now." Irena gave a final push and.... in the room where the love between two people, husband and wife, is professed, a baby was born.
Gregory Roland Tolliver entered the world at 7:50 a.m. on Sunday, September 12, 1999. Welcome to the world, son. Meet your mother and father. These young ladies are your sisters. You'll meet your grandparents soon. Thank, Sheryl, our birth attendant.
There are so many questions that go unanswered this day. We'll find out the answers in due time. For now, we'll celebrate your arrival and bask in the glory of parenthood. Gregory lay sleeping in my arms, resting from the long journey. The journey from darkness into light. The journey from love to waiting arms. The journey from what was to what may be.
"Sleep well, my son, sleep well. Tomorrow the journey continues.
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