mother's day
just wanted to post and wish all the mothers out there a happy mother's day. i hope someone is showing you their appreciation on this day especially, but every day would be even better.
i want to take a moment and talk a bit about my own mother. i've easily got the coolest mom ever. what other woman can blithely say "cock" at the dinner table? my mom has made some tough decisions in her life that were for my own good, and then agonized over them for years until i got old enough to understand and assure her that what she did was for the best of all involved. she did her best to raise me to be open-minded and nonjudgemental, and except for a fair amount of acerbic wit launched at individuals or groups that seem particularly heinous to me, i like to think she succeeded. and though she aggravates me sometimes, i love my mom dearly, and am thankful every day that she is my mom.
and i want to take another moment to talk about my wife, and the mother of my children. how fucking lucky am i, eh? boy, i can't even begin to convey, and any attempts will be accompanied by waterworks, so let me see if i can sum up with a single snapshot if you will that i hope might do this whole thing justice:
it is a hospital room, painted in the requisite stark-white. tubes hang from the ceiling, wires trail across the floor, a myriad of machines blink and buzz and beep along the walls. in the center of the room is an incubator bed. this contraption looks like a plastic baking pan with a giant heating lamp fixed above it. some kind of oversized prep table from a restaurant in hell. in the middle of the bed, tangled and loosely wrapped in soft blankets, is a tiny baby. this baby should not be this small. the wires and tubes running from his body make him look smaller. he is still, unmoving, unresponsive. (lest you, the beloved non-existant reader, find yourselves overly concerned that this snapshot is going to a bad place, i will throw in here that the baby in the incubator is currently driving a hot wheels across my knee cap) beside the incubator stands a couple. they stare at the baby, eyes red and puffy and their faces wet. and now, my droogies, i want to zoom in on something. the couple, who are standing and staring at possibly the hardest thing they have ever faced in their entire lives have their arms around each other. i want to add a little insert to this snapshot: there will be a full minute where this little, but oh so tough baby, will be dead. the machines will scream and wail and flash angry red. the nurses will rush and bob and weave in a battle with death. his spirit will float nearby, telling them, "c'mon, i aint fucking ready yet. come on." in that room, not far away, stoic and powerful, will be the very woman who carried that baby within her for 6 and a half months, who fed that life, who coaxed it into being. when the spirit reenters the body, she will leave the room. she will have a smoke. she will cry. she will call the man and cry on the phone to him. but for that minute, she will have been a fortress, an army, a pillar.
here's to all those women everywhere, who nurture those lives. who carry them. who make sacrifices so varied and infinite to offer a better existance to those lives. who suffer all kinds of pains and emotions and hormonal inbalances with the ache to feel that life pressed against their skin, to commune with god.
i'm going to break one of my rules here, i am going to use people's names (i can't figure out how to do it justice otherwise, it just looks like i am doing the alphabet): here's to sharona, and courtney, kim, and kalli, penny, april, kelli, to angie, janan, chanin, tami, andrea, kanitta, and probably a million others that i am forgetting but will remember as soon as i post this.
happy mother's day.
darth sardonic
i want to take a moment and talk a bit about my own mother. i've easily got the coolest mom ever. what other woman can blithely say "cock" at the dinner table? my mom has made some tough decisions in her life that were for my own good, and then agonized over them for years until i got old enough to understand and assure her that what she did was for the best of all involved. she did her best to raise me to be open-minded and nonjudgemental, and except for a fair amount of acerbic wit launched at individuals or groups that seem particularly heinous to me, i like to think she succeeded. and though she aggravates me sometimes, i love my mom dearly, and am thankful every day that she is my mom.
and i want to take another moment to talk about my wife, and the mother of my children. how fucking lucky am i, eh? boy, i can't even begin to convey, and any attempts will be accompanied by waterworks, so let me see if i can sum up with a single snapshot if you will that i hope might do this whole thing justice:
it is a hospital room, painted in the requisite stark-white. tubes hang from the ceiling, wires trail across the floor, a myriad of machines blink and buzz and beep along the walls. in the center of the room is an incubator bed. this contraption looks like a plastic baking pan with a giant heating lamp fixed above it. some kind of oversized prep table from a restaurant in hell. in the middle of the bed, tangled and loosely wrapped in soft blankets, is a tiny baby. this baby should not be this small. the wires and tubes running from his body make him look smaller. he is still, unmoving, unresponsive. (lest you, the beloved non-existant reader, find yourselves overly concerned that this snapshot is going to a bad place, i will throw in here that the baby in the incubator is currently driving a hot wheels across my knee cap) beside the incubator stands a couple. they stare at the baby, eyes red and puffy and their faces wet. and now, my droogies, i want to zoom in on something. the couple, who are standing and staring at possibly the hardest thing they have ever faced in their entire lives have their arms around each other. i want to add a little insert to this snapshot: there will be a full minute where this little, but oh so tough baby, will be dead. the machines will scream and wail and flash angry red. the nurses will rush and bob and weave in a battle with death. his spirit will float nearby, telling them, "c'mon, i aint fucking ready yet. come on." in that room, not far away, stoic and powerful, will be the very woman who carried that baby within her for 6 and a half months, who fed that life, who coaxed it into being. when the spirit reenters the body, she will leave the room. she will have a smoke. she will cry. she will call the man and cry on the phone to him. but for that minute, she will have been a fortress, an army, a pillar.
here's to all those women everywhere, who nurture those lives. who carry them. who make sacrifices so varied and infinite to offer a better existance to those lives. who suffer all kinds of pains and emotions and hormonal inbalances with the ache to feel that life pressed against their skin, to commune with god.
i'm going to break one of my rules here, i am going to use people's names (i can't figure out how to do it justice otherwise, it just looks like i am doing the alphabet): here's to sharona, and courtney, kim, and kalli, penny, april, kelli, to angie, janan, chanin, tami, andrea, kanitta, and probably a million others that i am forgetting but will remember as soon as i post this.
happy mother's day.
darth sardonic
posted by darth sardonic at 10:14 AM
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