Small Candle

Yesterday was the anniversary of the attack on the Twin Towers. On our Nation.  Traditionally, I have spent that anniversary reflecting on the great losses our country sustained and the ramifications of that day...the losses keep piling up. And traditionally, I have posted a small poem written on the first commemoration, but this year, I didn't have time.

What an unbelievable and complicated six months it has been.  Steve, Daddy, Mom...my daughter's high risk pregnancy.

She called me last Friday and said, "Mom, I need you to come up here."  And my typical response, as of late, was a series of palpitations and a quick - "What's wrong?"  She responded, "Well, I want you here when the baby comes."

And so, I asked for the day off, and my boss graciously and understandingly granted the request.  Off to Durham I flew to spend Wednesday night.  We were up at 5 a.m. on 09/11/08 and off to the hospital for the scheduled C-section.

"Oh please" I prayed, "Let everything go okay."  And it was a little bumpy - a team of Doctors assembled to stand by because of Beth's POTS syndrome.  They couldn't get a vein for the IV's, and finally found access in her feet.  BUT - Steven McArthur Thompson was born at 09:55 a.m., weighing into the world at 9 pounds 11 ounces on 09/11/08.  He looks like his Mom.

What a strange life this is, finding unfathomable joy and gratitude spiking amidst a chain of loss and solemnity by way of a small bundle of hope, pink and new, and screaming his little lungs out to make himself heard.  I may have to write a new tiny poem to replace

Behind the light of my small candle
many shadows flicker.