2.07.2022

eighteen

Eighteen years ago today—six weeks before his due date, two weeks after a sonogram revealed an alarming absence of white matter in his brain, and a week before a scheduled cesarean at Boston's Children's Hospital—tiny Calvin came into the world during an emergency cesarean at Portland's Maine Medical Center—in the middle of an ice storm. I guess that's how he rolls.

Seven weeks passed before we brought Calvin home from the hospital. At the time, Michael's employer did not offer parental leave (oh, how we could still use some) and, while Calvin was in the neonatal intensive care unit fighting to thrive, the college asked Michael to take on an ill colleague's course of classes in addition to his own. Thankfully, for our sake, he said no.

Every evening after work, Michael made the thirty-mile drive to Portland to be with me and Calvin in the hospital before spending the night with me in the nearby Ronald McDonald House where parents of sick children were provided meals, a comfortable place to sleep and, for some, a private place to grieve.

Halfway through those heart-wrenching and difficult first seven weeks, when Calvin became just strong enough to be transported via ambulance, he and I took up residence in our local hospital's labor and delivery ward. Every night for three-and-a-half weeks, Michael brought me a home-cooked meal, which we ate together at a little round table in the corner of the room while Calvin slept. Our friends, Ta and Jerry, and Michelle brought us meals, too.

I hear parents remark, often lamentably, about how quickly their children grow up. I get the sentiment; I feel the fleeting passage of years in my life, too. In some ways, yes, Calvin "grew up" in a blink. But his nearly-imperceptible and in most ways halted progress has had a way of slowing time to a crawl; I mean, I'm still changing diapers after eighteen years; that kind of thing can have the affect of stunting time. But the protracted passage of time has led me to be mindful of every moment of the past eighteen years, and to have felt them deeply—beginning with the tragic sonogram, the fear, the feelings of grief and loss, the hopelessness and uncertainty, the joy and surprise, the frustration and resentment of raising a child like him. I've done and been through some difficult things in life, but nothing compares with this marathon. At the same time, I've felt the most extraordinary love for my nonverbal, legally blind, autistic, enigmatic, impossible child who has virtually been joined at the hip with a me for eighteen years. Suffice to say, it's been a wild ride; I'm exhausted and proud.

Instead of celebrating Calvin's transition into manhood, I began his eighteenth birthday by cradling him in my arms like a baby again, my eyes stinging and welling up after four days of seizure-related worries, woes and sleep deprivation. The world looks blurry through watery eyes and wet lashes, and I think about how much easier it would be to raise him if it weren't for relentless seizures and drug side effects. Still, there are moments of joy with my heartbreak kid, who can both exasperate me and melt me into a mushy mess of motherly love. I guess, in that sense, we're no different than anyone else.

Happy birthday, Calvin. You're the best! We love you so much.

Photo by Michael Kolster

16 comments:

  1. Happy Birthday Calvin, may you and your parents be a continued source of inspiration, strength and love for us all.

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  2. Happy Birthday, Calvin. Our deepest love to all three of you. Ann and Kevin

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  3. My praise always to you, Christie, for the courage to name not only Calvin's but also your own incredible journey. I am always moved by your word. Today, I couldn't help crying for that messy happiness you must be feeling. Love to you all

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  4. Christy, thank you as always for sharing the messy joys, sorrows, and insights of your wild ride. I'm sure you know, but Calvin's 18 years on this earth will be celebrated by many way beyond your close circle of people that brought you meals at the hospital and support you today. Through your dedicated efforts to chronicle and share, Calvin has had an impact on so many people around the world. Like me, many of us probably forget to tell you that often enough! I know Calvin and you and Michael have all influenced who and how I am -- and strive to be -- as an educator and human. In the past few years, I've come into a role that would legally be described as 'step-parent' (but I tend to refer more to as caregiver) to a pretty incredible kiddo and, this year, also fell into being a sort of, unofficial foster parent/caregiver to a teenager. In all this, I am grateful to be able to reach for insights and wisdom that you have shared through your writing and art, born out of your relationship with Calvin. Sending love and birthday wishes! - Aspen

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    1. thank you, aspen, and for keeping in touch after all these years. i so appreciate and am humbled by your thoughtful words, and am grateful to hear about what is going on in your world. sending much love, christy

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  5. 18 years. You capture the nature of time so well in your reflections. Happy birthday to Calvin, and thanks to you and Mike for sharing your lives with us so generously over all of this time. The three of you make the world a better place.

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    1. thank you so much, mark. I so appreciate your kindness. xoxo

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  6. Dear Christie, thank you for sharing yours and Calvin’s story .
    Sending loads of love to Calvin …
    I agree with the folks who have commented earlier as to how your blog does inspire us to be better and kinder people .
    Sending you love, strength and prayers

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    1. dear rev mumma, thank you! i so appreciate your sentiments. they make me feel so good. xoxo

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  7. To Calvin for all his courage. Love to all, AF

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  8. Calvin was a beautiful baby and is a handsome dude on his bday. Gd bless you Christy and your boy. Yesterday my daughter had a big generalized tonic clonic, you popped in my head during the post ictal part….your experience and words in my head calmed me.

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    1. dear andie,

      I am so glad my words can be of help and offer solace. never forget that you are not alone.

      xoxo,
      christy

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