Prior to Drake's birth, I would talk to Mom and Dad on the phone about his arrival. Dad seemed anxious and excited for another grandson. But, with his joy, there was also sadness that Mom wasn't aware of what was happening and that she couldn't share the experience with me.
Here was my typical weekly conversation with Mom:
"Mom, did you know that I'm pregnant?"
"Oh, really?"
"Yup. I'm going to have a baby boy. You're going to be a grandma again. What do you think about that?"
And then Mom would typically trail off with a string of nonsensical words. I'm not sure that most of our conversations even registers with her anymore. But, despite our discouraging conversations, each week I continued to remind her about her grandson on the way. Somewhere deep inside her there had to be a part of her that could still feel happy - a part that could still remember the joy and excitement of a new baby.
Mom and Dad came to the hospital the day Drake was born. Dad asked a good friend of theirs to make the trek with them, as long car trips have gotten hard for Mom. Dad had talked about coming to the hospital for a while. Part of me was very glad that they were going to make the trip, and another part of me was really worried about how the visit would be for me emotionally.
And in the end, I was able to focus more on the sweet than the bitter. Even though Mom didn't really seem aware of what had happened at the hospital, Dad was beaming. I had that. And that was worth plenty.
