The Glider

The Glider

As we sat at the table remembering Alex, my mind went where it always goes eventually.

Back to the beginning.

Bringing him home

I remember bringing him home from the hospital.

It was cold. There was snow on the ground. I pulled the minivan up to the hospital doors and remember putting him in the car for the very first time, being extra careful driving home.

I was terrified as a first-time parent, no idea what we were doing.

This wasn’t a dog or a cat we brought home.

This was another human… totally dependent on us for everything.

We listened to every instruction like it was law. The nurse told us to dress him in “one more layer than we would wear.” We swaddled him in his blanket like they showed us. We tried to do it all perfectly.

And then we learned something quickly:

Learning Alex

We learned quickly that not all babies are the same and some guidelines don’t apply.

Alex would have difficulty sleeping, waking up crying and when we check on him everything is damp. The kid was hot. Sweating. So we adjusted. Took off some layers. Learned him, not the manual.

His nursery was decorated in Winnie the Pooh. It was warm and sweet and hopeful — the kind of room you build when you believe the future is guaranteed.

The nights

It was difficult getting him to sleep at night.

I remember sitting in the glider, holding him in my arms, rocking as I fed him.

I can still feel his weight in my arms. It’s like muscle memory. I know exactly how he feels.

And when you thought he was done eating and ready for bed, you had to be a ninja. Slowly. Silently. Carefully. You’d lower him into the crib and realize your arm was still under his head, and now you had to sneak it out like you were defusing a bomb.

When you think you’ve made it, you’re out of the room walking to bed… then you hear him.

Where did you go, come back, we’re not done.

So many nights I fell asleep in that glider with him, just holding him in my arms.

Even as he grew I remember falling asleep on the floor next to his bed because he would look up now and again to see if you were still there.

Now

Now I’m the one going over to his bed looking for him.

That’s the part that breaks me in a different way.