Milestone

A milestone moment happened today; my oldest son graduated from high school.  Wow.  How in the world did that happen?  Where has all the time gone?  It doesn't seem all that long ago that he was running around in diapers and today I watched him slowly and deliberately ascend the steps of the stage set up just beyond the infield of the local class A baseball team's stadium (without a cane or any other help; something he had told his former principal that he wanted to do) and receive his empty diploma card (the actual diploma will be picked up at the school tomorrow).  He was so excited that he waved "I love you" signs in the air and forgot to shake the hand to the superintendent (oh, well, what's she gonna do, not graduate him ☺).

This has been a week of mixed emotions for me.  I’ve been feeling excited and old at the same time (I suppose that’s possible).  As I have found myself reminiscing about certain aspects of Ben’s life, probably the most prominent moment has been that fateful morning when Ben took his first breath in this world: the culmination of a long, sleepless night.  When we arrived at the hospital, Jennifer was checked and told, “You’re not quite dilated enough to admit.  Walk the halls for an hour and we’ll see where you are after that.”  I’d have to say that was one of the more interesting walks we’ve taken as a couple.  We traversed a section of empty, quiet corridors in the hospital (the only noise was her gasping each time a contraction took place) and then returned after a little more than an hour to be given the green light for admittance.  At first, everything was proceeding smoothly.  The nurses kept telling Jennifer the delivery was textbook in its progress.  That was good.  Then the obstetrician suggested that braking Jennifer’s water would get things moving faster.  That was not so good.  Maybe Ben wasn’t happy about the sudden loss of familiar fluid, but suddenly the “textbook” delivery stopped being textbook.  Contractions continued, but no progress was being made.

I sat next to Jennifer throughout the later evening and early morning, dutifully counting her through the contractions and reminding her to breathe.  Through it all, she constantly kept up her cheerful disposition, saying “please” and “thank you” to the nurses with each new thing they did for her to help her through the ordeal.  There were times when the nurses would give me a shocked look after receiving such words of kindness and gratitude.  I guess they were more used to being treated rudely or sworn at (I remember the day we took the hospital tour as part of our Lamaze class; I could hear the one woman in the delivery room swearing like a sailor—and this was with the door closed).  Several times, I got looks from nurses as if they were asking out loud, “Is she for real?”  I would nod an affirmative every time. J   Finally, as night gave way to sunrise and then morning, I guess Ben had finally given in to the reality of his situation and went through with the remainder of the delivery process. J  After a full night in the delivery room and no breakfast and the sight (brief as it was) of Ben making his debut, I nearly fainted.  Yes, that’s me: weak constitution Chris.  However, I was not going to faint at the most important moment of the birth.  So, I put my head between my knees to keep the blood flowing to my brain and would still count dutifully when prompted.  If someone had video recorded the moment, I am certain it must have looked very comical. J

Fingers and toes were all present and accounted for.  After all the other immediate checks were completed, Ben was given a thumbs up and whisked away to the nursery.  Jennifer was then encouraged to get some sleep and the nurses (after giving me some orange juice to counteract my near collapse) also encouraged me to go home, get some rest and something to eat and come back later in the day.  I remember as I walked out the front doors of the hospital toward our car (tired and excited over the idea that I was now a dad), I suddenly noticed the amount of people standing in the designated smoking area puffing away on cigarettes.  Surprisingly to me, one gentleman had an oxygen line hooked up to his nose.  “Oh, son,” I remember thinking to myself as I passed the group, “welcome to the telestial kingdom.”  I think at that moment I truly began to gain a small understanding of the responsibility I had taken on by becoming a father.  It would take more days, weeks, years, for different aspects of that moment to sink into my consciousness, but right then I began to understand, in a very limited way, how important my role would be.

My execution of my role has had its highs and lows and in-betweens.  There have been times where I've thought I’ve done a pretty decent job and there have been times when I’ve fallen flat on my face.  But no matter the outcome, I’ve tried and I hope that counts for something.  As I also thought about prior vacations, Christmases, and other memories at various times throughout the days leading up to this moment, I've come to the conclusion that all of them add up to the amazing young man Benjamin has become over the years.  There have been ups and downs, triumphs and trials, joyous and sad moments, and so many others in between.  Yet, as he walked up to receive his diploma, all of those mental snippets where welded together into a moment of grateful satisfaction for me.  I was very pleased to see him achieve this goal of both graduating and walking to the podium without the help of a cane and knee brace; satisfied to know that I had tried my best to help him reach it and grateful for the additional heavenly help offered by a loving Father (whose children we all are) when my best needed the extra boost only He could provide.

Emotionally I held myself together until the end of the ceremony.  I was actually very surprised with myself.  There was a moment or two when I got a bit quivery lipped, but, maybe the video camera duty I was doing (I tried to record the moments, not the entire ceremony) kept me occupied.  As the recessional began and Ben walked across the home plate area, I trained the video camera on him to capture his deliberate ascent up the stairs towards what the stadium skyboxes (such as they are).  I followed his progress until he entered the door of the skybox and disappeared—and that’s when it hit me and tears began to fall.  That moment served as a metaphor for me concerning Ben’s life.  The first chapter of his mortal story closed when he exited the stadium through that door.  At the same time, however, I recognized that new doors will be opening and the next chapter of his life’s story is about to begin.  It was a profound moment for me; one that I will remember every time I watch that part of the graduation ceremony.

Congratulations, Ben!  I love you very much!