Something for T

You were the first baby I held. Not ever. Just as an adult. The first person produced by friends of mine. 

When they put you in my arms, I couldn’t believe that they had created something so perfect. There was nowhere for me to put my hands that felt like I was supporting you in the right way. 

Where is the soft spot? 

Why is your head too heavy for your neck?

When does he stop crying?

Then, you were up and moving. Dressed in a waterproof body suit, you ran across the park and sat down in a puddle. 

You were scared of hand dryers but fascinated by vacuum cleaners and dogs. 

You had a brother. Like me, this made you anxious and responsible. Saying that, I once watched you bounce his head off the wall of a photo booth when you didn’t get your way. You became too smart for me to read books to you at bedtime. 

You had a sister. The care and attention you showed her was different. Just a couple more years of asking “why?” all the time meant you had things to teach her. You still asked if I had any games on my phone. 

I’d babysit and you’d say you were allowed to stay up when “the kids” went to bed. I ordered pizza for me. You ate half. You asked why I wasn’t married when I tried to put you to bed, buying yourself more time. 

I’d indulge you when you wanted to play football even though I hated being in goal. You’d ask why there weren’t any of my books that you could read. 

I introduced you to bands like Arctic Monkeys on the drive home from parties. 

You stayed over at mine and, wanting to be a cool uncle, I let you order whatever you wanted, stay up far too late, and watch films that were not age appropriate. 

You routinely asked when you could next stay. 

You started secondary school. You had your first girlfriend. You broke your first bone. 

Life was moving so fast and I didn’t see it in my experiences, I saw it through yours. 

When I got a call that you were in the hospital, I didn’t know how to process it. The thought of something happening to you that would involve an ambulance, surgery, opioids, it just never entered my consciousness. I was scared for you and didn’t know where to place the feeling. 

Like your amazing parents, I wanted to protect you from everything but allow you to make your own mistakes. 

I text you. You’re old enough to have a phone. It has its own games. 

“You scared the shit out of us”. 

I waited two days for a response. 

Ping! Well, not ping. My phone has been in silent since 2014. 

A picture of you in a hospital bed, groggy-eyed, tubes all up in your business, an attempt at a thumbs up. 

You asked why there wasn’t anything of mine you could read. 

Here it is. 

Thanks for coming home. 

I’ve had an incredibly emotional week and the above is what I got down at the height of it, when I didn’t know where to place what I was feeing. It’s unusually personal but that’s what this life is all about. The unusually personal.