A letter to my son:

It was a brisk day in March, chilly, but a scent of Spring was in the air. The sun was shining, finally, and its grace was much needed on this Saturday. I had reluctantly awoken and trudged off to the misery that was currently paying our bills. I approached the door, and began entering in the security code to the alarm as my phone began to ring. I chose to ignore the phone in order to avoid alerting the police of a possible break-in to my establishment. I entered the store, only to hear the land line ringing. What a start to the day. In fear of the boss man, I ran to the phone and quickly answered. The voice on the other end was of an angel, my beautiful wife, who had given me reason to enjoy life again.

“My water just broke”

From a grumpy disposition, my mindset switched to complete and utter panic. I had a plan in place, but wasn’t prepared to hear this. My thoughtful plan was now, simply, out the window. The only response I could concoct was unintelligible, and incoherent. Then my saving grace says,

“It was hilarious, Livy thought I peed all over her floor”!

The calm humor allowed me to refocus, and collect my wits. Although, now I was also worried about the hardwood. Walking out of the door, and turning the security alarm back on, I phoned my friend, and co-worker. She knew the importance of this day. She knew how idiotic I would be, and with utmost respect, had my back. She assured me she would be in right away, and to get off the phone, and get home immediately. Which I did. As I hit the road in a fury, I called my wife back, once again in a state of panic, and inarticulate rambling. She calmly told me to relax, everything is ok, and we have plenty of time. The serenity of her voice cooled my jets, and allowed to make one simple request.

“May I poop before we go”?

Laughter and a simple “yes” followed, and I finally felt at ease, causing the turtle head to poke its way out just a little bit more. The thought of my son’s birth literally scared the shit out of me. When I arrived home, my wife was smiling, and so was my daughter. They seemed comfortable, and ready, and I was still a complete train wreck. As we drove to the hospital an hour away, my knuckles had turned white from gripping the steering wheel. Fear, happiness, and the overwhelming amount of anxiety had consumed my ability to feel my fingertips. When we arrived, family was already there to meet us. They scooped up my daughter, and provided the pat on the back that everything was under control. I needed that. So, I didn’t worry… for a short time. The endorphins had kicked in, and I found myself playing with the provided hair net, and making fart jokes with my wife as we waited for the anesthesiologist. I familiarized myself with all the gadgets in the room, and practiced using the camera multiple times.

The lab coats wheeled my wife away, and informed me they would be back to get me when it was time. So, I waited, and waited, and waited, until I was on the precipice of breaking the law. I was pacing outside the double doors that led to the delivery room with my hand on the door handles. This was it, I’m going in, I don’t care if I sleep in the tank, or get tased. I’m going in.

“Are you ready Mr. Russell”?

Perfect timing. They led me down the hall, and into the war zone. Blood everywhere, painful groans, sharp objects, beeping… Where the hell am I!? My wife’s stomach was opened wide, and her face was green. The anesthesiologist had over loaded her with drugs, and I was given a barf bucket. Which she used, and I had wanted too. Blood, barf, and feces. These things I do not do. Welcome to Fatherhood. Moans of sheer pain and discomfort came from my wife that I will never forget. They still haunt my thoughts. As the camera man, I thought, none of this should be filmed. I will never watch this again in fear of PTSD. The doctor was elbow deep in my wife’s chest cavity, and struggling to free my son. He was backwards, and breach. He was a month early, and I was literally numb with fear.

“I think I got him”!

The doctor, engulfed in my wife’s body, literally yanked my son from her womb, and I heard it. His cry. His beautiful cry. The nurses rushed him to the table to check his vital signs. I had never felt so happy before in my life. There were tears in my eyes, and my head was literally tingling with goosebumps, crawling over my entire scalp.

“Why isn’t he crying”?

My wife, miserable, overly drugged, and in complete anguish had realized something I hadn’t. My son wasn’t crying anymore. She repeated,

“Why isn’t he crying”?

It’s then I noticed the panic. The panic didn’t exude from me, but the nurses hovering over my baby boy. He wasn’t breathing. The oxygen pump was applied in a fury. The nurse in charge pumped, and pumped. Nothing. It was a scene from a movie, where they are giving mouth to mouth, beating on chests, and begging.

“C’mon little guy, breathe baby, breathe”.

My wife, unable to witness, or even comprehend, only kept asking. It was quite incredible. My wife, with her organs laying on a table, so doped up that her body was rejecting the medicine, had more awareness than I. It never dawned on me the most important thing to hear was my son’s cry. That one audible noise that had given me so much joy, was now absent. As parents, when our baby cries, we do everything we can to comfort, and quiet the screams of our children. As friends and lovers, we hurt inside when we see each other cry. But now, I stared at that table, screaming on the inside, please baby, cry, just cry!

Then, he cried. Loud, and long. I was speechless. I turned to my wife, to ask her if she could hear him, but she was smiling, and her eyes closed. The doctor informed me that I needed to follow the baby, and that my wife needs attention immediately. This is, by far, the craziest day of my life. Still is. As instructed, I followed the baby. He was tiny, and would need a feeding tube, and oxygen for a day. I couldn’t touch him. I’d been a typical “man” around babies to this point. So afraid to touch, hold, or communicate that I had avoided it almost completely. My poor niece. But now, all I wanted was to hold my son, put my hand on his tiny chest, play with toes, anything, just anything. But I couldn’t. I stared at my baby boy for four hours. I did get to change that black tar turd that has been an endowed privilege unto Father’s as some sort of rite of passage. Those four hours seemed like four minutes, and I was told I had to leave. Your wife is waiting for you.

The rest is history. If I were to tell you everything I learned about myself, life, and especially babies that day, I would need to have it published. My son Elijah saved my life. My wife took a broken soul, and prepared it for what was to come. A second chance, redemption. I had pissed away so much love, that I had forgotten the very feeling itself. The reason parents can’t explain to someone what it’s like to have children is simple. There are no words that can describe it. It’s an experience like no other, but I’m sure so is skydiving. I love you son. You saved my life. Please don’t take me skydiving.