I love Gavin. I’m blessed to be his father. I don’t understand how a parent could have the capacity to not love their child. And yet, so many don’t. And so many do. I’m in the ‘do’ category. I always knew I wanted to be a father. And bam! Here I am! And there he is. Looking rather serious and daring me to sink his battleship.
The doctor told my wife to call her when she starts to bleed. We had already lost one. I held on to Faith- Tell life it can’t. Gavin wasn’t supposed to be born. So we were told. Somehow Megan and I suffered a bit more though. Megan nearly died during an ectopic rupture when Gavin was nearly two years old.
Megan lived. Gavin lived. I’m trying my best to live.
Sunday mornings lighten the heart.
It wasn’t always like this,
but has somehow found itself
nestled in place with the morning dew
and first glimpse of sunrise.
Through the New England mountains,
covered in forests, and lined with old rock walls
long ago forgotten and found again;
like a palpitating mind, not full of fear,
but of growth and hunger having transferred
any heaviness of chest to logic of the mind.
The frog hopped along walking sideways with thoughts, asking the young boy to please share his, ‘it wasn’t me. i’m not much anyway, but if i were, it wouldn’t matter.’ the frog stopped hopping, ‘what matters is you. you don’t know this yet. i pray you will.’ the boy stepped along remembering. always remembering.