New Years Eve — Reflection
A Baby Is Due To Be Born — My Grandson
So, it’s New Year’s Eve, 31 December 2018.
My baby grandson is due to be born on 6 January 2019. But of course, he could come at any time.
I packed my bag, and I am waiting for the call. I will drive five hours to my daughter’s house and meet her and her partner at the hospital. I am going to stay about a week with her and help with the new baby.
I am excited. Nervous. Unsure what is going to happen.
Of course, I know what will happen — I have had four children of my own. But, I mean — will it all go well? Will she be okay with her asthma during labor? Will the birth go fine with no complications? Will baby Raphael be healthy? My son-in-law has Spanish heritage hence the name Raphael. My daughter is already calling him her little “riff-raff” affectionately. Raffy is going to be loved so much. He already is.
We were altogether over Christmas. She has had more Braxton Hicks contractions. They are increasing in frequency and coming regularly each day now — her body preparing for her impending labor to give birth. Her nausea has increased. She is finding that sometimes she has ‘morning’ sickness again. Quite frequently actually.
She is so excited. So happy. Full of all the hopes and dreams of impending motherhood. Full of expectations. The baby’s cot sits in the corner of the room. A bassinet has been made up. She packed her hospital bag along with a bag full of supplies she may need to bring home with the baby.
I remember those days. The day 30 years ago I gave birth to my first child. My eldest son.
We had long chats over Christmas about memories of all of them as children. She shared how her partner and her have been talking about what traditions they want to have for their family; now a child is coming. Her partner’s dad was killed in a truck accident when he was only 15 years old. His dad’s birthday if he was still alive is 1 January. A poignant reminder. An emotional time.
I sit in bed typing my thoughts down. It is 11.37pm. I know I will hear the fireworks from my house when they will be let off down by the water. It is a changeover year with special significance now.
A new baby is about to be born soon. He is my grandchild.
We wish and hope for the best. I ache to see him and hold him. I fear for him and my daughter, wanting only the best for them both but knowing I have little influence over life and what will happen. I can just be here for them to hold them, support them, love them and watch them grow and journey with them from afar.
Be kind this year, please? For my child and me, and my grandson?
For all the babies to be born. For all the soon to be mothers and fathers full of hopes and dreams in their hearts for the future?
To be human is to be so vulnerable.
Life is so precious and can so easily be taken away.
Let me sit and honor life as it rests in my daughter’s belly. About to come forth and be birthed into this world with all that means for him and his future and all like him, of his generation who will be born this year.
I am 53 years old. My grandson will be 53 in the year 2072.
I will most likely not be alive then. Will he be sitting waiting to welcome in a new year at that age — thinking and hoping in his heart that his grandchild will be born safe and well and have a future?
I hope so. I pray so. I want it to be so.
I sit. I will meditate this year in — in silence with my hand over my heart and my heart full of hope and filled with longing for what will soon be.
Goodbye 2018. Hello, 2019. I welcome you in.
