Miracle. All of It.

“The hospital corridors were quiet, the midwife was quiet. She whispered—that’s how I remember it—that I needed to see the doctor and have an ultrasound. She helped me gather my things and sent us even farther down the corridor. I remember lying on the doctor’s examining table in a dark cubicle, only the ultrasound machine emitting light. I remember covering my face with my hands. After a while, the doctor touched my arm. “Look,” he said. My husband took my hand in his. The doctor pointed at the screen and moved his finger carefully around the sonogram, as though showing us a rare map, and then, because we couldn’t quite believe what we were seeing and what he was telling us, he turned up the sound so we could hear the steady beating of the heart…”

Linn Ullmann, ”Unquiet: A Novel” (W. W. Norton & Company, January 15, 2019)


Notes:

  • Photo of sonogram: Kim Pham
  • Related Posts: Miracle. All of it.
  • Inspiration: Inspired by Albert Einstein’s quote: “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”

Sunday Morning

baby-father

He said that after the third child, he told his wife, Enough! He felt too old to have any more, so he got a vasectomy. But in the years since, he’s had many moments of regret, because once the boys got a little older, he said he wanted it again—the experience of cradling an infant in his arms.

~ Sheila Heti, Motherhood: A Novel (Henry Holt and Co., May 1, 2018)


Photo: caz gordon with Father & 2 day old Son

Sunday Morning

“We all come into existence as a single cell, smaller than a speck of dust. Much smaller. Divide. Multiply. Add and subtract. Matter changes hands, atoms flow in and out, molecules pivot, proteins stitch together, mitochondria send out their oxidative dictates; we begin as a microscopic electrical swarm. The lungs the brain the heart. Forty weeks later, six trillion cells get crushed in the vise of our mother’s birth canal and we howl. Then the world starts in on us.”

~ Anthony Doerr, All the Light We Cannot See


Photo: Nacia Photography

Running…with red eyes.

3:30am.  And up.  (Nothing wide-eyed and bushy tailed here.  You have a problem pal.)

Posted my work-inspiration video.  (Was inspired.  For about 3 minutes.  A** firmly planted in chair.  Motivation rating: 1.5 on scale of 10.  Darkness rolls in.  I’m sorry.  That’s disingenuous.  My a** is hanging so low, you can’t see where my a** starts and the floor begins.)

Slash through 50 emails. (Tension climbing with the disposition of each mail.  Look down at meter count.  126 left.  Standing in ocean.  Neck deep.  Taking in water with each wave.  Gagging on the salt water.)

She left the office yesterday after lunch.  A colleague.  Her water broke.  Six weeks early.  No word.  (Damn it, CALL!)

I shut down the email train.  (Rationalizing again.  Maybe I’ll run later.  Nothing in the tank this morning.)

Little red light blinking on Blackberry. (Devil’s tool that little red light.  Blinking.  Blinking incessantly.  It’s not even a pretty red color. Maybe it’s T.  No.  No, it’s not.)

It’s an email from a former colleague.  He’s now in London with his family.  (I haven’t spoken to Steve in a very long time.  What an amazing person and talent he is.  Had no idea he was even following my blog.  Dark clouds fall away.  Mood shifts.  Amazing what a few kind words will do to my psyche.)

“Dave, I hope this note finds you well…Now, I read an article in one of our leading newspapers and felt inspired, when I feel inspired I think of your blog. It’s not the most obvious article that may be worthy of landing on your blog but I thought I would share it just in case you thought your friends would relate to it. As a Dad, it struck a chord with me. Hope you are doing well, and the family is good…..take care……Steve.”

I start panning down the article.  I finish the article.  I’m rubbing tears from my eyes.  I put on my running gear and head out the door.

“It’s not the most obvious article that may be worthy of landing of your blog.”  (Right!)

The story consumed me the entire run. (“You will wish for terrible things; you will pray for your newborn baby to die — not just once, but a thousand times. Go with it, don’t judge yourself, and the storm will pass.”).

If you read nothing else today, take a moment to read the story below.

Running Time this morning? 39 seconds ahead of last Sunday’s pace.  A new personal best.  Steve, I owe to it you for bringing the light back.  Thank you.

Enjoy your Saturday.  That is, after reading the story below.


[Read more…]

%d bloggers like this: