A Sense of Perspective

It's a little after 7 p.m. in Nashville and I'm sitting on my back porch, nursing a glass of wine, as late afternoon slides into early evening in the city. The only sounds are a light breeze rustling the newly minted leaves in the branches of the trees above my head, the chirping of birds, an occasional dog barking from somewhere in the neighborhood and the hum of traffic. Jude is upstairs, feeding John Patrick, so I am enjoying what is left of a beautiful spring day.

I return to work Monday, with more than a little trepidation. I'm not worried about getting back into the swing of things. I'm actually looking forward to being back at the office, seeing everyone, and getting some work done. What I'm dreading is having to leave the house in the morning and not getting to see John Patrick again until 6 or 7 p.m. that evening. That's going to take some getting used to, for sure.

I've been so blessed to have the opportunity to take the last two weeks off work, to spend time at home, with Jude and John Patrick. I wouldn't trade the time I've had at home for anything in the world. I think I've been able to develop a bond with him, much more so than if I had gone back to work immediately after we arrived home from the hospital. Also, I hope I've been a help to Jude, upon whom the lion's share of the responsibility of caring for John Patrick often falls, given the fact she is breastfeeding him every three hours or so.

What I want to write about this evening, though, involves me only indirectly. As Deb Rubenstein, a friend and legal assistant at our office, suggested to me shortly after Jude, John Patrick and I arrived home from the hospital, it's really hard to understand what being a parent is all about until you have a child of your own.

To me, it's kind of like trying to describe to someone what it's like to parachute from an airplane. I've done it, once, and Deb has done it, twice. When I talk to her about what it was like to jump from an airplane in Buckeye, AZ, in June 1993, she understands, because she's done it. Now, on the other hand, when I describe for someone who has never parachuted what it felt like (sheer panic!) to let go of the strut underneath the wing of the Cessna 172, 3,500 feet above the ground, they smile and nod their head, but they don't really understand how I felt. They can't.

On some level, we all appreciate the fact that our parents joined together in a physical and emotional sense to create our very life, to bring us into this world. Then, on a practical level, we appreciate (or, we should) the fact that our parent or parents provided us with food, shelter and most important of all, perhaps, love and emotional support throughout our childhood and beyond. We know, if you can really ever "know" anything, that our parent or parents made sacrifices for us - time, money, friends, hobbies, professional advancement, etc.

But here's the thing that Jude and I have talked about a lot the last couple of weeks - until you actually have a child and bring him or her home for the first time, you don't really understand how much of their lives your parents willingly gave up to care for you. Until you've gotten out of bed six times in 30 minutes and walked over to where your 10-day old son is sleeping, like I have, just to check and see if he's breathing, you just don't, or can't, understand how much your parents loved you when you were born and how much they still love you. Until you've gotten up in the middle of the night and fed your 10-day old son (or daughter) and looked into his or her eyes with your sleepy eyes, you just don't, or can't, understand how strong the bond is between parent and child.

As we perform these tasks, these seemingly mundane but meaningful tasks, Jude and I realize we're walking in the footsteps of our parents before us. We're doing what they did, 41 and 38 years ago respectively, and probably feeling the same feelings they felt, so long ago. This, I think, is what is called "the circle of life."

Jude and I are so thankful for all that my parents, Jane Newman and my deceased father, Howard, and her parents, Jim and Jane White, did for us and continue to do for us, each and every day. I think the best way for us to show our appreciation and our gratitude is to assure them they are in our hearts and on our minds as we hold our son when he is crying, as we change his diapers, as we feed him and as we marvel at a new facial expression he has made or a smile he seems to have given just to us. Thank you, from both of us.