this little, big life

Good greif!  I say.  I’ve had enough of that (literally).

 

It's time for some happiness.

Let’s jump right in.

I have this little dude in my life named Cole who is ¼ brother, ¼ son, ¼ miracle, and ¼ awesome.  He was born six years ago to my ¼ mom, ¼ best friend, ¼ sister, ¼ arch-nemesis.  He really is a miracle, in every sense of the word, if you believe in the word.  And she’s really not my arch-nemesis but sometimes, in the back corner of my mind when all the good griefs of life seem to take up the shades of gray that make life manageable, my anger surrounding orphanhood comes out on her.  When I say she takes all the blame, I mean it. 

Cole is Megan and Doug’s miracle.

Cole is a miracle because Megan couldn’t have kids. 

He’s a miracle because she conceded to “not want kids.” 

He’s a miracle because she was told in a cold emergency room, at month six, to go home and let the baby die and come back when it’s over. 

He’s a miracle because, after too many miscarriages, he was the persistent and resilient one.

Cole is my miracle too.

I found out Cole was on his way when I was 18, in my first year of undergrad.  I was jealous and angry in the knowing she was pregnant because I conjured up the worst-case scenario: that Megan and Doug will have something to love more than me.  It’s sort of like when you drop your second scoop of ice cream from the cone, right after the first scoop.  My feelings were so unbearable around the subject that I made no room for absolute elatedness at said miracle.

I didn’t see it at the time but Cole would be the cornerstone of the rebuilding of my existence.  People were being stripped from my life like a band-aid but Cole was the golden nugget of hope.  He was the piece de la résistance.  He was placed into my arms on September 27 (because I waited a day to meet him, par for the course in delaying acceptance) and in lesser words he said, “You’re going to love me while you’re still missing people.  You didn’t know you could do that, did you?  I’m going to be worth the letting go.  It starts now.” 

And so my journey with Cole and my acceptance of life started.  My learning was slow as molasses and the telltale signs of growth were not so “telltale” but I had his consistent growth to encourage me along.  I was slowly opening my zipped up heart while he was reaching for objects.  When he learned how to kiss, I felt myself reweaving the silver thread of lining that I had previously tore to shreds.  He took his first few steps and I, in turn, took the necessary ones to change the direction of my sails.  We explored the world together.  I found awe in the same intricacies of a flower as he did.  We pointed at clouds and the moon and found a hiding place underneath the neighbors old willow tree.  I threw rocks into puddles with him, shared the first taste of brownie batter together, and collected the coolest sticks.  My favorite part was when we danced in the kitchen together, when no one was home, and my companion slowly taught me that the development of goofiness could move me through the resistance of change. 

Cole’s lessons come from a place of pure youth but his lessons are as old as time.  I have kept a journal of some of his lessons over the 6 ½ years that he has been with us.  Enjoy.