By Carol Lucas
There cannot be a person anywhere, man or woman, who cannot remember when his or her first child came into the world. It was a magical moment and produced a wide range of emotions.
Of course in the case of many of the women, one of the most striking of those reactions had to be that of a pain-filled plea for more anesthetic. I admit to being one of the latter who told her obstetrician to be in the parking lot with needle in hand when I arrived. I have nothing but admiration and no small amount of incredulity for those gals who opt for natural childbirth.
But back to the glorious moment when the doctor hands off that little bundle of joy and announces the gender of the child, assuming this wasn’t determined earlier in the game.
On June 12, my great grandson (the first great) arrived a month early. This brought about a heady mix of joy as well as concern. Since he was a premie, how would things go for him? How was my granddaughter making out? It seemed that week that I was in constant touch with my daughter, the grandmother of this new arrival.
Fortunately, he weighed in at 5 pounds, 3 ounces and 18-and-a-half inches long. For a premature baby, this was encouraging, but I am a worrier by nature. Give me anything that remotely suggests worrying might be called for, and I strap it on my back and drag it along behind me.
Therefore, while I didn’t want to be a helicopter great granny, I made it clear that I wanted a daily (hourly if truth be known) update. No fool like an old fool.
Finally the day arrived when I got into my car and traversed I-16 all the way to Macon, Ga., and then onto I-75 North to meet the newest member of the family.
My great grandson’s name is Liam Noel, and I must interrupt here to tell you about the joy that name brings. The middle name is that of my late husband, who passed away in 2001. My granddaughter has a picture of him, sitting with her in our golf cart, and she remembers him despite her being just 5 when he passed.
Additionally, she has the feminine version, Noelle, of his name as her middle name. So when she told me during the course of her pregnancy that this little boy would have his great grandfather’s name, I cried. Of course I did.
To say that all of this brings forth so much emotion is an understatement. So may I have a little background music, please. In 1968, our first daughter was born, and in 1971, her sister came into the world. I had wanted a boy both times; of course I loved my daughters beyond reason, and still do, but one time I questioned my husband as to whether or not he missed having a boy. His response? “Hell, no. I love having a harem!” I never asked again, and both of my girls had a father-daughter relationship that I never experienced.
When our older daughter had a girl, followed by another girl, my husband exclaimed, “My harem continues to expand.” So now that the chain of females appears to have been broken, I become a bit wistful. I wish Noel could have been here to see this little boy, but I tell myself that he does, and that he smiles.
As I drove, I took a moment to think about the fact that I knew none of my great grandparents from either side of the family. However, I was fortunate enough to have interacted with both grandmothers and grandfathers. I grew up in the same town as my paternal grandparents which afforded a lot of time together. In fact, I was very close to my grandfather, and we forged a special bond that included gardening together. He even had a small wooden wheelbarrow made for me which I still have.
My maternal grandparents lived about 35 miles away which was somewhat substantial back then. Yet my mother’s family was large, and we always were there for Christmas. With six aunts and uncles and their families, the festivities were very memorable.
And so as I held little Liam for the first time, so many questions bubbled to the surface. He lives four-and-a-half hours from me. How often will I get to see him? How many memories, much like those I just described, will be created with this child? The next time I hold him, how much will he have grown, and what will I have missed?
And yet when I looked into those baby blue eyes, I felt as though I were given a glimpse of the future that I might not have seen otherwise. It was a pivotal moment for me, for I held in my hands the extension of my own life.
If I were to pass from this earth tomorrow, right here was a life that possesses some of my genetic make-up. Yes, initially I had laughed when told of the pending birth and said it certainly underscored my age. But to have the privilege of seeing the fourth generation before me outweighed any humor I might have conjured up. The awe was overwhelming.
So I can focus upon and lament the distance, or I can be grateful that I have lived long enough to enjoy this gift from God. The choice is simple.
Carol Lucas is a retired high school teacher and a Lady’s Island resident. She is the author of the recently published “A Breath Away: One Woman’s Journey Through Widowhood.”
