"She discovered with great delight that one does not love one's children just because they are one's children but because of the friendship formed while raising them." - Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Love in the Time of Cholera

for six or so months, from the day (specifically july 24th, mike's 32nd birthday) we finally told people that we were expecting (after getting approved for welfare health insurance, acceptance into the birth center, & our own growing excitement for our little weiss) until baby harry was introduced into the world, i was given lots of kindhearted advice & unnecessary warnings about how my delivery was probably going to take place. especially when it was disclosed that i was going to a birthing center, where it is understood that there is lots of hippie, pro-women mumbo jumbo & no epidurals of any kind. needless to say, i received a colorful array of responses, ranging from: "i don't know how you're going to do that. it's supposed to hurt like hell. like the worst pain ever. & you can labor for so long. so you could be in agony for days. & what if something happens with only a midwife there? no doctor?! can they handle everything? but hey, cool! congratulations! good luck!" to: "giving birth is orgasmic!" enough said.

contractions are little laboring episodes that cannot aptly & appropriately be described. it's like trying to make someone feel a migraine, who has never experienced the extreme tension in the temples, how even dim light & dull noise makes your head pound, how even the subtlest of movements can induce paralyzing nausea. but migraines, like contractions, are so easily dismissed & forgotten when they are over. the intense pain felt by the whole body with each cramp lasts only as long at the uterus contracts. then there is a brief & sudden period of euphoria, like a cold beer on a hot night at a phillies' game or sitting next to a hot wood burning stove while seeing the snow silently fall outside the window nearby. or like when a migraine dissipates, with the help of aspirin & caffeine, & i am able to blissfully go about my day, almost instantly forgetting i was crippled for most of the morning. the trick to handling the intense time within each contraction, according to the sweet, informative teachers of my birth class, was to concentrate, breathe through them & somehow find solace in knowing that, at most, they will last only 90 seconds. one exercise they had us do was squeeze ice cubes in our fists for increasing increments of time, resting an entire heavenly minute between each grievous grip. although melting ice cubes clutched in your hands isn't completely comparable to contractions, it was a remarkably relevant lesson in understanding how truly painful the cramps are when you are living in that moment, but also how much relief & rest there is when they are gone.

unfortunately, all that flies out the proverbial window when your uterus is hurriedly preparing your body for baby elimination mode. mike came back in the house after preparing our car for the drive to the suburbs in bryn mawr, about 1/2 hour drive from our house in west philly. i had just gotten off the phone with the midwife on duty at the birth center, & she had told me to come on in. i had also called my extremely excited & confused mother, who couldn't believe i hadn't warned her earlier so that al, her boyfriend, could dig out his car, & extra long driveway, & make it to the birth center from new jersey before the baby was born. i frantically explained to mike that we had to leave right then, that the baby was coming faster than i had imagined, that it really really hurt.

mike took my freshly packed birthing bag & gently lead me down & across pine street, which was covered in piles of snow. i don't even think our road had been plowed yet, a common courtesy of the city of philadelphia. i gingerly got in the passenger's seat, & i felt my body telling me not to sit down. it definitely wasn't a comfortable position for my laboring body. i moaned long & low through the pain, just like i was taught in the classes, which i think freaked mike out, a lot. he knew, at that point, that i was feeling some crazy shit. he pulled out of the parking spot cautiously but with quick determination. luckily, as we turned off of pine street, the other roads were cleared at least once over. & there was hardly anyone crazy enough to be driving under such dangerous conditions. he turned on the hazard lights, paused briefly at each stop sign & red light, & carefully proceeded through them. although mike was driving slowly, the infinite ice bumps on the road made the journey even more difficult. i remember trying desperately to half squat over the seat while bracing my right arm on the ceiling & the left on the rear of the seat so that my achy lower back & cushioned derriere wouldn't have to feel the added bounces.

we made it to the birth center in record time, considering the remnants of the recent blizzard. i was introduced to kathy, the midwife on duty, & my super pregnant nurse. besides mike & my mom, they would be the only other 2 people with me when i deliver. as kathy was showing me back to my room, she explained that there was only one other woman there that morning & that she was coming along excruciatingly slowly. she had been laboring since the previous day & hadn't progressed. ohhhh lordy! i thought. please don't let that be me!

so allow me to gush about the birth center for a bit: it's basically a large house down the street from the bryn mawr hospital. on the second floor, there is the office, waiting room, & check-up rooms where women go for prenatal, gynecological, & postnatal care. the basement consists of a large room where couples go for their birth seminars & the mandatory introductory class. the ground level most resembles a home. there are 3 "bedrooms" - distinguished by color - adjacent to full private bathrooms. each bathroom comes equipped with a large jacuzzi tub, which is the birth center's natural version of an epidural. towards the back of the building, there is a kitchen for parents & relatives to bring & store food, for those unforeseen long laborers. & beyond that, a dining area & living room, where extended family & visitors can wait, and celebrate, in the comforts of a home.

i surprisingly & happily got the blue room, which is what i had secretly hoped for since it is my favorite color. i immediately took off my pajama bottoms, that i hadn't gotten a chance to change out of, & kathy reached in & felt my cervix. i was dilated to 8 centimeters! which to those of you who aren't familiar with such birthing jargon, is only 2 centimeters from pushing time. which means i was really far along already. she asked if i wanted to get into the tub, & i thought that sounded like a pretty good idea. the contractions had been getting stronger, so allowing the warm, pulsating water to envelope my body was like getting a hug from your mama after falling off your bike as skinning your knees. i closed my eyes & let myself melt into the water. i tried to feel each moment of peace in it's entirety before the contractions shot through & terminated any sense of serenity. kathy told me that she was going to check in on the other unfortunate future mother & to let her know when it was time to push. i wrinkled my brow in confusion, felt my uterus prepare itself again for delivery & asked, "but how will i know?" she stopped at the door, turned & looked at me confidently, smiled & replied, "you'll know."

"He allowed himself to be swayed by his conviction that human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but that life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves." - Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Love in the Time of Cholera

my friend is due to have her baby this weekend. realistically, the likelihood of giving birth on her "due date" is somewhere around 4 or 5%. so unless she erupts into labor within the next few days, she'll become one of the many mothers who impatiently crosses off her assumed birthing day, her skin stretched beyond what seems comprehensible, her joints pulled to their limits, all the while having to simultaneously urinate & scarf down antacids to feel somewhat comfortable. growing up i had a rather skewed vision of pregnancy & the birth experience. i was five when my mom was pregnant with my youngest brother, scott. although we didn't know if the baby was going to be a boy or girl, we knew that it was going to be born on november 20, 1986, since my mom had undergone 2 prior cesareans with my brother & me. i remember being so excited, helping mommy organize all the baby's clothes, diapers, bibs, & toys. steven & i went to visit mommy & the new baby, which to my immediate dismay turned out to be another brother. but when i saw him, he was perfect. i recall seeing my mommy's scars from being cut open & having little scott david, the name we had all agreed on if he had turned out to be a 'he,' taken out of her belly. & for a long time, longer than i'd like to admit, i thought that cesareans were the norm. when i played with my barbie dolls, some of whom just happened to burst into pregnancy, their offspring were cut from their unrealistic frames. then barbie was sewed back up, put on her favorite tiny purple dress & mismatched high heels, & went on her merry way to live happily ever after in her homemade house with her eerily similar looking barbie friends. when i finally discovered how babies were supposed to be born, the way nature had intended it, i was shocked, sickened, & secretly hoped that my future baby would become stuck like i had so that i could have a cesarean & not have to push something so large through something so tiny.

when i found out i was pregnant with harry, mike & i were completely freaked out. we had just reunited after being separated for about 9 months, we didn't have health insurance, & probably most importantly, we had no idea what it meant to be parents. we were used to living for ourselves, doing whatever we wanted, having the future open to us without any obstructions. a baby would take us out of what we were used to, & at first we thought it was going to be a bad thing. a couple days after i took the pregnancy test (or 3 or 4 of them), we were going on a long tour with mike's band in a crowded, dirty bus across the country. we decided to keep the pregnancy between us until we got back from tour, found a doctor, & miraculously got on some kind of insurance plan. after endless reading & researching & finding out what it actually means to be pregnant, i slowly became excited & fascinated by the tiny little parasite growing inside of me. i grew to embrace my xx chromosomes, my extremely fertile uterus, my breasts that i could already feel growing full, & all the thousands of uniquely feminine characteristics that used to terrify me. i decided i wanted to deliver at the birth center, in bryn mawr, pennsylvania.

the midwives & nurses there were always encouraging me to trust & listen my body, which was something i had been channeling in my life during my counseling sessions. it was just like being in tune with my thoughts & feelings, & not being afraid of them like i had been for so many years. i was becoming empowered not only as a woman, but as 'sarah,' a person i hadn't necessarily liked was turning into someone i loved, had confidence in, & could trust. i also learned that if i couldn't have my baby naturally - if he came out too early or too late, if unforeseen complications arose, or if labor become much longer & harder than expected - i wasn't a horrible mother or terrible person. knowing your limits & graciously living within them has been very freeing & empowering for me.

my due date was set for february 8, 2010. i realize that in theory you're supposed to want your baby to gain weight & carry to full term. but the last month is so brutal. especially when it's the worst winter in philadelphia's recorded history & you are afraid to leave the house because you don't want to slip on the ice. & anyways you've been feeling like humpty dumpty who's always teetering on the edge of falling over. so i just nestled into the couch, trying to find any position that would be comfortable for more than 15 minutes before having to rock myself back off the couch & waddle up to the bathroom. & then repeat.

but i figured my little "boo" knew what was best. so i waited, through birth center appointments, multiple blizzards, & then my due date. i found myself convinced that i'd probably end up pregnant another 2 weeks, trying castor oil, spicy foods, pressure points & sex to induce labor. on february 10th, another epic snow storm hit philadelphia & the city was incapacitated. the next day i woke up around 7, after another miserable night's sleep, & went to the bathroom, as per usual. i had cramps, but i thought it was just my "morning ritual," if you know what i mean. but when i wiped there was blood on the the toilet paper & instead of the cramps going away, they grew in frequency & intensity. i guess this is it, i remember thinking. i went back to bed, believing that i would probably be in inactive labor (the first stage of giving birth) for another 12 hours. i nudged mike awake & said, "just so you know... i think i'm in labor." he smiled groggily & with surprising alertness, that i've rarely seen him possess so early in the morning, responded with, "i should go dig out the car." i told him not to worry about it yet, that i'd most likely be in labor for a while. but he rationally & quickly got dressed, put on his coat & boots, & shoveled the snow off of our nearly hidden volkswagen.

i tried to go back to sleep, to rejuvenate for my imminent delivery. but the pains were becoming too hard to ignore... & i remembered that i hadn't yet packed my "birth bag." i got up & gathered my rice-filled socks for my back, my extra clothes, the baby's first outfit, cds with laboring music. but i had to stop & brace myself frequently as the contractions came & went. it became evident rather quickly that my inactive labor wasn't going to be as long as i was told it could be. i started to time them & they were coming in at less than 4 minutes apart. at my birth class, i was told to call at 4-1-1, when my contractions were 4 minutes apart, lasted for a minute & had been going on for an hour. but i listened to my body & trusted it when it told me to call the midwife regardless. i managed to say something like this: "hi. i know i'm not supposed to call until it's 4-1-1... but my contractions are coming faster than 4 minutes & i've had them for about 30 minutes & i don't think i should wait." just by the sound of my voice, she told me to come right in.

let us die, let them live

when we were young, grown ups seemed to skirt around death, keeping it hidden on the same dusty out of reach shelf as sex & the creepy older neighbor that you were never left alone with. they never told us that each day we see to completion brings us closer to our own unavoidable & natural demise. when the dog is taken away to "live somewhere else," or the turtle mysteriously "ran away" never to be seen again, we took these stories as truths, because we didn't understand the idea of something not being anymore. we relied on consistency & permanency. when daddy went away on a business trip, we were scared that first night when he wasn't at the dinner table. "are you sure he's coming back mama?" & she was sure. so we believed her & took solace in her omnipotence. eventually he would always come back. when our ankle biting chihuahua mutt, logan, was put down after one too many nips at scott's fingers, my younger brothers were convinced he was simply in his favorite hiding place behind the couch, & never wanted to leave it.

my first close experience with death happened when my grandfather, my mom's dad, passed away suddenly when i was 12. a blood clot in his leg broke loose & traveled to his heart. he died while my grandma went home to shower & gather a change of clothes. my mom, dad, brothers & i took a flight out to chicago the following day. we met the rest of my mom's family - her mom, her 4 brothers & their spouses & children - & mourned the loss of our beloved patriarch. the funeral was full of sadness, but also songs of love & praise for having experienced such a caring, funny, creative person.

that first touch of mortality seemed to dictate all other sudden deaths i would experience. a year later, a month before my graduation from eighth grade, a friend of mine was hit by a drunk driver about a mile from my house. a group of my friends had asked me to go out with them but it was the night of my ballet recital. at home after the performance, my mom received a phone call informing her of shannon's accident. i could barely sleep. old people, like my grandpa, were supposed to die. but shannon? i kept thinking that maybe if i had been there... if only the dance recital had been a different weekend... i woke up knowing shannon was gone before the phone rang, before my mom knocked on my door & came into my bedroom with tears in her eyes. the man who had hit my 14 year old friend as she crossed the street & left her dying on the asphalt turned out to be a father of my brother's friend. my whole class spent the next month in disbelief & solidarity. we had tremendous love for even the least socially inept. we abhorred alcohol & the stupid things it made people do. we prayed & cried, & started the lifelong task of facing our imminent death. 16 years later, i can still picture shannon's bloated face in the casket. it took me that long to take another ballet class. i never danced in another recital again.

in high school, megan, who sat next to me in advanced biology, was killed when her friend, the driver of a car she was in, went on a joy ride & she was ejected from the vehicle. then 4 girls - angela who sat at my lunch table & megan number 2, the homecoming princess who knew & was loved by everyone - were killed while on vacation when a drunk lady, with a suspended license & previous dui's, ran a red light & annihilated the car they were driving. the only survivor, besides the woman, was a teenage boy from my town.

my grandma parker, my dad's mother, died suddenly sometime between christmas eve night & christmas day in 1999 during my freshman year of college. it was the second christmas after my dad left. he arrived in the morning to open up presents with us, to lessen the awkwardness of my parent's separation. our phone rang soon afterwards. it was a police officer asking for steven parker. my grandma was found dead in bed by my grandfather, whose brain was quickly deteriorating with alzheimer's. my family met my grandpa & uncle in florida. we had a small & brief remembrance for my thrifty, proud grandma, who had survived a lifelong battle with asthma & beat breast cancer at a time when it wasn't so commonplace. it was the last time i saw or talked to my grandfather. he went to arizona with my uncle, was put in a nursing home, & passed away a couple years later while i was on tour with my future husband's band. there was no service for him; it was as if he ran away & never came back.

death for me, as a grown up of nearly 30 years, has seemed to attack quickly & suddenly, with little sympathy or discrimination. especially in the last year with the unexpected & devastating passing of my father in law, elliott, & my brother, scott. with each dying i am forced to grieve again all of those who passed before. the wounds are reopened. & i can see grandpa olund in his backyard, shirtless, smoking a cigarette with one hand, & filling the kiddie pool with the garden hose in his other, so that all his grandchildren can keep cool in the humid chicaco summer air. there is shannon's slightly cocked head in her 8th grade yearbook picture- her signature red locks never to be marred by hair dye; her infectious & cheerful disposition never to be inhibited by bitterness & rejection. i hear megan teasing me about mike, who had an innocent high school crush on me, & angela discussing boys over brown bagged lunches. i can envision the other megan with her sweet smile, unencumbered by her braced teeth, befriending those who were often overlooked; her heart open & overflowing. i feel grandma parker's wrinkly skin, hear her unique cackle as she gasps for breath at one of dad's jokes, watch her tiny arched feet always squeezed into her dr. scholl sandals. i can see grandpa parker's squinty eye stare through me as he recounts his war stories that my brothers & i have heard about a hundred times before. i recall elliott's signature outfit: mesh shorts, "brotherhood" tshirt, & athletic sandals, all stained with the food he ate too quickly & diet soda that poured from his cup because of his fondness for large quantities of ice. i hear scottie's rapid drumming on the arm of the couch, smell his overpowering foot sweat mixed with cigarette smoke that always clings to his clothes, see the raised ringed scars on his arms from when he purposely burnt himself with cigarettes while in a drunken stupor.

in these memories i am hoping to keep these precious souls alive, if only for a moment, before i have to turn down the burner on the stove or change my son's soiled diaper. with each death, my departed friends & family are briefly & miraculously brought back to life. it is terribly tragic but utterly beautiful, & i am so very blessed to carry them with me & let them breathe again.

4 months in: life in a fantasy

tonight marks 4 months since my brother died. the first time. my mom & harry & i spent the day together, just like we did on january 19th. then we were waiting for scottie to get back from florida & were living in a state of panic, wondering if he would call us. what kind of state he would be in. if he could stay clean around his friends. in spite of all this, we had such a beautiful day together. today was an eerily similar day. we went to connect with scottie at rittenhouse square park. the sun was finally out, after days & days of rain. the eclectic gatherings of philadelphians were crowded on worn wooden benches, dangling off of wide concrete walls, scrunched on any available patch of dry grass, balancing on the edge the shallow wish-filled fountain. we parked next to my brother's "shred" graffiti tag, across from the concrete pond. as harry walked my mom over to the water, i dug 3 crusty pennies from the bottom of her purse. i gave one to harry, which he promptly flicked into the dirty liquid a few inches from the wall. "hi scuncle!" my mom called into the air as she tossed the bronzed coin. i lightly & apprehensively kissed mine, which left a metallic smell on my fingertips, & said "i miss you."

i sat on the ledge as my mom & harry traversed the stairs, chased the bobble headed pigeons, & fawned over each panting dog that walked by. i heard a man behind me grumble loudly about the cia. i turned around a find an overweight man in his thirties on a bench by himself. he couldn't stop talking, even though everyone that walked by quickened their pace & blatantly ignored him. he took a long drink from his iced tea carton & stood up. "my mama always said that if you don't want anyone to read what you've written... don't write anything down."

i thought of my brother & how he had been so afraid of the fbi & government & he was convinced that people were after him. i would listen to him with a mixture of shock, confusion, sorrow & anger. but i knew that although i couldn't necessarily understand the unfounded paranoia he was experiencing, it was very horrifyingly real to him. & how shitty it must have been for him - having his family tell him that we didn't believe him. of course we didn't say it like that. we wanted him to feel relieved & safe in knowing that no one was out to get him. that white cargo vans driving by where probably just work vehicles. that the chirping bugs, the fish in the gulf, & the vulture perched on top of my mom's house in florida were nothing more than the native wildlife. that the reason he was hallucinating was probably as a result of the tremendous amounts of drugs he had been taking, & his body & brain just needed some time to normalize.

but then i wondered - what if scott was never able to reach the balance that he needed? what if he was starting down a path that ultimately lead him to live a life like this man behind me? in my fantasies of my brother, i picture him growing old, somehow kicking his horrible habits, getting his mental illness under control, & starting a more decent existence. he someday has a family & they live nearby. & his children play hours on end with mine - like we had done with our own cousins. that we grow old together as friends, as brother & sister are supposed to do. my dreams didn't allow the reality of where scott was actually headed. not towards cleaning up with a job or family. but towards more drug abuse, the insatiable need for alcohol, his bouts of depression & mania becoming more & more pronounced. meanwhile his rational mind getting lost behind confusion & paranoia. it was sad to think that i may have been deluding myself all these months, well... these past couple years. that it wasn't as easy for my brother to flick the switch in his brain as i wanted it to be. & that expectation was something my brother knew he could never live up to.

walking home, as the skies turned grey & clouds gathered their ripe raindrops, my mom pointed out that 4 months ago scottie had been at the park the same time we had been there. my skin crawled a little bit & suddenly my mom gasped. she said she felt like someone was walking directly behind her & brushed against her arm, but when she turned around, we were alone. but somehow we both know that's never entirely true.

rebirth in west philadelphia...

yesterday evening, mike & i took our 15 month old son, harry & dog, penny on a walk through our neighborhood in west philly. this spring has been particularly beautiful & needed, after the seemingly endless & grueling winter. feeling trapped indoors with a baby at times made me feel like jack torrence, "all work & no play..." during this rebirth, trekking throughout the city with my precious little family is always such a blessing. to breathe in the blooming magnolia trees, newly planted annuals, & the stately sprouted bulbs. to admire the colorful houses, & the equally colorful families that inhabit them, who can now sit on their front porches with their sleepy but alert dogs, playful & barefoot children, & cool bottles of beer. we ended up at clark park, as we often do. it's a popular park in this section of the city, attracting the college kids that live nearby, passively studying & concentrating on tanning in the grass. the dog owners, who somehow know all canines' names but not the owners', congregate after work in the "dog bowl" & allow their beloved pets to run & sniff to their hearts' desire. the crusty punks with their long dreads & patchwork clothes, discreetly hiding their 40s in slender brown paper bags. the soccer, baseball, softball, frisbee, & football junkies carefully try to keep each game within the set parameters while determined to play through the unavoidable dog disruptions. the troops of parents that are dragged by their amped & anxious children to the playgrounds, hoping their energy will be appeased enough for a smooth bedtime. with spring comes the reappearance ice cream trucks, awakened from their long hibernation, along with the pretzel & water ice carts. on thursdays there's the amish farmer's market, & every few weeks people gather at the flea markets, where one man's junk truly can be another's perfect treasure, for the change left over from a small cherry water ice.

we arrived at clark park later than usual. harry had a late nap so most kids his age were probably getting ready for bed. but there was a good sized drum circle, whose reverberations echoed throughout the bowl. & the shirts team played the skins team in a small but rousing soccer game. i brought harry over to the empty swing set & set him in a middle dry one. i lifted his wiggly body high into the air, held it there as harry shrieked with delight at the impending drop, & darted out of the way as gravity helplessly flung him down. i thought about the first time mike & i put harry's fleshy form into a similar swing, nearly one year ago; how small he looked, just dangling in the black looking diaper. now when i try to take him out before he is ready, harry emphatically shakes his head at me & says "no!"

i let mike take over pushing duties while i sat at a nearby bench with penny, reveling in this luxury i haven't had in quite some time. i blissfully watched harry laugh as he "kicked" mike while in upswing. i followed two helmeted sisters as they practiced their biking skills on the safe, intertwining sidewalks of the park. i noticed a person in a striped hooded sweatshirt shuffling slowly along the edge of the square. although i couldn't see his face, i automatically pictured my brother scott. "hoodies" were a staple of his wardrobe, in any shape or color. for a while, one of scottie's favorites was an over sized, strangely patterned one he had purchased on 52nd street - a shopping mecca of the city that caters specifically to african american fashion. & although this person's gait wasn't exactly like my brothers, it was eerily close. scottie walked, & stood, always slightly slouched over. & it didn't matter if he wore baggy torn jeans with his bulky winter coat, his unique strut would push through his hefty outerwear. it was always a silent joy of mine to watch my dad & brothers walk next to each other. it was one of many genetic traits steve & scott got from our father.

i couldn't keep my eyes off this person, whom i had involuntarily morphed into my brother. i thought of the times we had spent at clark park, sitting in the grass & talking while he smoked cigarettes. or specifically the time penny got spooked by a firecracker & ran away in a complete panic. luckily she made it home, a mile away, unscathed, physically at least; it took a few months for her to feel comfortable there again. my brother had taken off after her but she was too quick. he diligently kept on her trail by asking anyone he could if they had seen a skittish yellow lab mutt with a pink collar.

i sat on the bench & sobbed. penny pressed her body up against my legs & looked at me. scottie was gone. i could hear harry's high pitched squeals. my thoughts turned to my last images of him, bloated & unconscious on the hospital bed. his eyes swelled shut. his skinny chest rising & falling with the hum of the machines. the mirage of scottie, with his striped hood up hiding his curly unruly hair, leisurely wandering down chester avenue, reminded me that for the rest of my life, young men resembling this description will remind me of my brother. all i have left are the memories that desperately i cling to, fearing that they will fade, meanwhile hoping that long dormant ones will surprisingly reemerge.

my weary heart hurt & my blue eyes stung as the sisters again pedaled passed me. i observed mike carefully take harry out of the swing, place him back into the stroller, & drift over to my bench. he hadn't noticed i was crying. & for some reason, i wasn't sure i wanted him to know. these surprising & unassuming times for me to mourn my brother can be solitary, but are eternally sacred. for a few blocks i held onto my grief before sharing it with my husband. he didn't need to say anything; he understood. he put his arm around me as we, our little family, continued west down baltimore avenue, towards the setting sun.

mamacita

this past weekend, i celebrated being a mother. my little family of 3 went to the adventure aquarium in camden, new jersey. mike & i lovingly & proudly watched harry marvel at the sea life. at first he was scared. i don't think he understood that the fish were trapped behind transparent glass. so when one particularly large & terrifying looking fish lazily changed its direction & swam directly towards harry, he shrieked & shook his head & frantically waved it away. mike & i hadn't planned on having harry when we found out that i was pregnant. we were shocked & scared & it took almost 9 months for us to warm up to the idea. but parenthood is one of the best things that has happened to us, as individuals & as a couple. i can't imagine being without him. in fact, even at only 15 months, it's almost impossible to remember life before him.

it seems unnatural to have a child pass away before the parent. i know it was a nightmare for my mom, having to say goodbye to her youngest son decades too soon. when scottie was young, he was a major mama's boy. he always claimed my mother's lap, while i jealously resigned to being glued to her side. when my dad left, scottie took it as his job to take care of my mom & protect her. but this wasn't supposed to be his job. he was only 11 years old.

their relationship was filled with ups & downs. they had so much love for each other, but i think they both expected things of each other that they couldn't give. mom wanted scottie to be like her other children, to abide by the rules & listen dutifully to what she said. & he wanted her to leave him to be who he was: a hippie painter & musician who loved drugs & girls, & hated authority & waking up in the morning. scottie was never one to give into an argument. if he wanted something, he would work every angle to ensure that it would go his way. as a kid, it was almost endearing. his persuasion, along with his chubby cheeks & syrupy smile, could easily melt the hardest of hearts, even my grandpa parker. but as he got older, his coercion turned more towards bullying & nagging. it got harder to take a stand against him. especially after he cut himself & threatened suicide. we were afraid & no one wanted to push him over the edge.

strangely, my mom's teenage years were also filled with turmoil, drug-use, & extreme depression. which is probably some of the reason why it was so hard to watch her son willingly go down such a similar & difficult path. with the help & motivation of my father, she cleaned herself up for the most part, & got married. a couple months after her 24th birthday, my mom discovered she was pregnant with me. she quit smoking, & immediately her life changed drastically & was given a new purpose. after a long pregnancy & scary unforeseen cesarean, her daughter was born. there was no looking back for my mom. less than 2 years later steven was born, & 3 1/2 years after that, scott david.  

she was such a fun mother. my friends would talk to her about boys & sex & things they couldn't discuss with their parents. she dutifully drove us to all of our soccer practices, ballet classes, piano lessons, friends' houses, the shore or the lake, great adventure, chicago or florida or wisconsin or all three to visit my grandparents. she was patient when we were whiny & mean. she relearned math so she could help with my homework. she cooked us amazingly balanced dinners almost every night & we always ate together in our designated places at the table. my brothers & i had no doubt that she loved us, & not just because she told us all the time. 

with scottie's death came a lot of doubt for my mom. she continues to question her parenting decisions & goes over what she could or maybe should have done differently. i'm sure this is normal & probably something she has to do in order to forgive herself. but this last weekend, on a sunday where a mother is supposed to be lifted up & graciously acknowledged for raising children, my mom was lamenting the loss of her son - who at one time made her breakfast with his brother & sister, deliberately scribbled on haphazardly folded construction paper, & joyfully commandeered her lap - who would never call her to say "happy mother's day," or "i love you mom" ever again. 

i look at harry. there are times when he drives me nuts; like when i've been with him all day long & he still wants me to hold him & i just want a moment for myself. or when he wakes up at the crack of dawn & i just want a few more hours of rest after a painful night of waking up every couple hours. but he smiles as me, exhales "mama" with such beautiful relief & contentment, & leans his forehead towards my lips for a long kiss, & i'm pretty sure i could die if he was taken from me. because he is me & i am him. more than anything else in the world. the cutting of the umbilical cord was only physical; the spiritual & emotional connection can never been broken. just like my mom & i are always inseverable. like my mom & steven. & my mom & scottie. 

my brother, a couple months after his own 24th birthday, was taken from this world entirely too early. but the invisible cord still holds him tightly to my mom. i hope that harry chooses to walk a different path than mine. one filled with confidence, strength, love, & grace. & that when he wanders & strays, i hope that i can handle it the same way, with confidence, strength, love, & grace. & when the world seems too hard for me to bear, i will go to my original life sustenance to help keep me afloat. i know i won't have too go far. she's always right here...