My gown is on, which means it’s official. I’m sitting on the hospital bed, texting our family play by play updates. It’s around 8 in the morning, February 24, 2022.
We’re waiting to be wheeled in.
How’s Char Char doing? Can you show her the picture of our room?
They just gave me my first transfusion, I’m feeling fine.
Russia just invaded Ukraine, Clarence says. We sit for a moment, the beeping of the machines sounding alarms we don’t yet know how to put into words. The joy and anticipation of meeting Ava for the first time suddenly halts - can we keep her tucked in for a while longer?
The animals are here, the sweet family farm from Altadena we booked for her birthday has now made home in our yard for the next couple of hours. The oaks above shield us from the unusual February heat as Ava and her friends meet goats, ducks, silkies, guinea pigs, and angora rabbits, and a sheep.
You’re 4 now, Ava!
Happy birthday, sweet girl!
How do you feel about being a big 4 year old??
153 dead in Iran after reported attack on elementary school, a news headline pops up on my phone as I’m adjusting the volume of Can’t Stop The Feeling blaring through the speakers. Here we blow out the candles, there the flames remain ablaze. We dig into the cake, they dig into the ground.
And yet, and yet - we are made for both. We’re made to love and to lament, for celebration and for sorrow. Maybe this is how our hearts stay soft, maybe this is how we fully human.
