now fortified with impotent fury!risperdal

It has come, that time that every parent dreads. We had tiptoed up to it before, with Sean’s questions of why, pray tell, did he never get to see my dad. So we had dealt with it, in those cases, matter of factly and simply. But as he never knew my father, he never had an emotional connection, which made it so much easier. It was simply truth, with no messy feelings to get in the way. This is when I confess that part of the motivation to get the goldfish (I’m sorry. ‘Chocolate oranda’) was that hey, kiddo’s gonna experience death and this one will be easier to deal with than a human!

Hershey O’Scharffenberger, I must point out, is very much alive this morning and, as per usual, pissed off every time I come into the room and fail to open his tank and dump in the entire tub of fish food. Unfortunately, the Lad’s grandfather, Sean’s beloved Gramps, died quite unexpectedly on Wednesday night. We are all doing okay, though this has reminded me that the thing I tell my new parent friends (you only think I have my shit together: we are all winging this, constantly, because the game always changes) really is not so much lip service.

As the Lad sat there valiantly trying to choke out words, it became clear I’d have to swoop in and do it, and it was like the words would not stop coming out of my mouth, even as Sean’s face began to crumble, even as he curled over in a ball and keened, and even though the words were kind and as gentle as could be and my arms were right there wrapped around him and my lips pressed against his hair I could tell it was like his little ship had sailed far beyond where the mapmakers knew what was what, right for that squiggle of a sea creature, of the unknown, of the ancient warning. And though he seemingly recovered quickly, I know, oh how I know, in the way his voice cracked as he asked last night what he should say to his Grandpa about his dad dying, in how he asked me in the car if Jewish heaven and Catholic heaven were different places because I knew he was scared he would have to choose. Oh how I know, as I think back on Wednesday, and the words coming out of my mouth- Gramps has died- he’s in heaven- he’s smiling down on you- he lives on in your heart- sweetie grandma and grandpa wanted to make sure you knew how very very happy you made Gramps especially when you saw him this summer on vacation- no sweetie you’ll never see him here on earth again- that I have put a wound on his heart that will never heal, and knowledge in his brain that will never go away.

By now, I think (I hope), the mad swirl of your first week of life has calmed. The influx of family has abated, your parents are beginning to know you, your rhythms, are likely starting to develop that unerring sense of what you need. (Pro tip: sometimes this will fail them. Try not to hold it against them. They are doing the best they can and you, oh littlest of men, can truly throw them for a loop. Let us just say you have brought seismic change to their universe, and will continue to do so, oh, for the rest of your life. Try not to abuse this power.)

I am sorry we are so remote, we who are one of the many outposts of friends and chosen family of your parents- and thus you- around the globe. Over six years ago, I watched your mother lift your cousin (as it were) Sean up, cradle his downy head against her shoulder, and close her eyes as she rested her cheek against the fuzz of his head. I watched your father settle his hand on Sean’s back, feel the rise and fall of his breathing. I knew then that someday there would be a you. And here you are, and your parents’ world begins anew.

We have already given you the words, in tactile form, that our little troika now uses to bless and welcome every baby into our circle. They are the words your mother lead us all in as Sean was welcomed to the family, both blood and chosen, and the larger community of Jews. But I give you more, Drew. You have two amazing parents, two people who feel and care more deeply than most people I know; two people who rise above privilege and station and luck of the dice of birth to not only care but act when it would be all too easy to simply loll along in comfortable, ignorant bliss; two people who throw their arms wide open and embrace the world- its food, its customs, its music, its art, its problems, its opportunities. I have every confidence that they will impress upon you creativity and compassion, the value of knowledge and the importance of action, the meaning of empathy and the art of listening.

And so I bless you with this, oh littlest of men. It is not something I often wish for boys. But I wish strength for you. Not strength of body, oh no (though I pray for your good health), but strength of your soul. The lessons that are your parents’ daily lives are tough ones for a small child. You will need strength to meet their example. You will need strength to understand the importance of the paths your parents have chosen. You will need strength to understand the value of a life less common, of being a bit different from your classmates, of walking the roads of compassion, interfaith, egalitarianism. You will need strength to never settle. You will need strength to always try. Knowing your limits, but being willing to push them, is its own kind of strength. And you will need strength to know that it is okay to ask for help, to cry sometimes, to need comfort, and to know that need is not a weakness.

So welcome to the family your parents have made. Welcome to the honorary aunts and uncles and cousins who span the globe, any and all of whom would be willing to be your shoulder should you ever need it, remind you of the amazing strength you have within yourself. Welcome to the world, little Drew. We are so happy you are here.

Love,
the Kansas outpost