You Must Remember This, A Kiss is Just a Kiss

I'm pretty goo-goo about babies these days. Jill knows I'll zero in on any that cross my path. I've become one of those grandmotherly types that tells strangers their baby is "so sweet" just so I can get some face time with an infant.

The other day, we were waiting for Jill to have some medical tests in the basement of the hospital. A couple came in with a stroller and a two year old. When the baby started to move, Mama took him out, all wrapped up in a hand-crocheted blanket, and comforted and patted him. The baby didn't cry. As he kicked around in the blanket, I noticed that one arm was only a partial. Ah, I thought. The baby is the patient. After awhile I noticed that both arms were truncated. Finally, I couldn't stand it any longer and I went over to do the grandma thing.

As soon as I saw him, I realized this child's legs were like his arms, and he had a trach as well. No wonder he wasn't making baby noises. But he looked at me with those big blue eyes and he followed my face as I talked to him. After only a couple of minutes, Mom asked me if I wanted to hold him. Did I? Of course! I held this precious child and chatted Mom-talk, some related to his condition, some just regular chit chat.

My own two babies were healthy and whole. I feel remarkably lucky to have them in my life still, as the fine adults they have become. But it really is a crap-shoot, isn't it? Nobody knows when the unexpected will strike. That's why they call it unexpected. Sometimes babies are born with health problems, visible or not. Sometimes the people we love most are injured, fall sick, disappear, die. At every step, there's not much to be done but take it in stride.

Jill's chronic health problems are what took us to the hospital basement that day. We weren't just hanging out because we like the magazines. Emotions and fears rise and fall with each new development for her. Even though nobody has any guarantees in this life, when there are potentially life-limiting conditions to deal with, perspectives change. In some ways, it's a blessing. We don't take each other for granted. We try not to blow anything out of proportion. To that end, we've developed a way of communicating that keeps both of us very current, nothing left unsaid, clear space between us. And into that space, anything can be spoken. In this way, so far, we've been able to handle whatever comes along, and I don't expect that to change.

I wouldn't have set out to marry someone with health problems like Jill has, not if I were listing out the perfect mate. And yet when she told me about it, shortly after we met, it already didn't matter. If I were able to wave my magic wand and cure her forever, you better believe I'd do it. I hate seeing her go through pain and uncertainty and way too many procedures. But altogether, I'm grateful that we have been able to spend the last eleven years together. When we met, she wasn't sure she'd be around another year or two. Every day is an actual gift, a celebration of life. And every day we show it, and speak it, and dance in the kitchen, and play with our fur babies, grateful for another day together.