Flowers, Balloons, and Babies (Oh my...)

I wanted to get my wife and my baby home from the hospital. It seemed like an easy enough task the day before, but this was a new day and a new world.  After the labor, the birth, seeing him for the first...well, I didn't know how my wife was doing, but I had come unglued.  

No one prepares you for this part. The magazines don’t talk about it, but it ate a hole in my stomach just thinking of the technical elements that would have to come together in order to get our stuff from the hospital room to the safe haven we had prepared at home.

At 3 a.m. of the big day, my wife and I sat planning our attack as she fed our son.

I would begin making small trips with suitcases at 6 a.m. directly after I had retrieved breakfast for myself at the hospital cafeteria, which was located approximately 17 miles down the hallway. Afterwards, I would bring in the car sear, read the 732 page manual, and attempt to strap our son into the device. We would walk calmly down the hallway with her carrying the final bag and me toting our child. I would pull the car around, we would load, and then….wait…I would have to drive...

I am 27 years old. I have been driving for 11 years. All of a sudden I was quite sure that I wasn’t capable of driving a straight line. It never mattered before how I drove the car, or if someone else hit me. All of a sudden I felt that I would be an ant on the highway trying to avoid all of the giant maniacal drivers. I took a breath, avoided the temptation to curl myself into a ball in the corner, and we went back to sleep.

We woke up at 5:30 am. Go time. 

I sprinted to the cafeteria, spooned out four pounds of eggs and ran back to the room. I immediately began cramming our belongings into suitcases. Things were proceeding as planned.  I could do this.  I could pack a car,  Heck, I could probably drive the damn thing.  I will most likely be able to keep this ridiculous small human alive for the next 18 years.  I was basking in the glow of optimism that can only be born from life-changing events, lack of sleep, and way too much coffee.  

It was at that moment that I saw them. Flowers…balloons...and ridiculous amounts of them.  I felt myself slowly detaching and floating from my body. 

You can’t pack flowers! You can’t cram a balloon in your suitcase...I tried. 

My first thought was to leave them behind, but then I realized they now had an emotional significance. These were HIS flowers, HIS balloons. Obviously, I MUST get them home.

After considering the possibility of tying the balloons around my neck, balancing a suitcase on each shoulder, and carrying the flowers in my teeth, I decided this was no time to be rash. I picked up the six vases and balloons all at once.  Obviously I needed to get them all packed in one trip or everything would be lost.

I made it to the elevator without breaking a sweat. What threw me off was the elderly couple in a wheelchair who entered two floors below. They pushed two buttons that they thought were for the ground floor, which caused the door to open for absolutely no reason on our trip down. 

I felt a bead up sweat run down my side. One of the balloons came loose from my grip and floated to the ceiling. It was the traditional “It’s a Boy!” balloon. This balloon must not pop. I grabbed it with my elbow and held it with my tonsils. I gripped the vases even tighter.

  Finally the elevator opened on the ground floor. I maneuvered my way around the couple and walked briskly for our SUV. It was a beautiful day. I had forgotten what real air felt like in my lungs. Our SUV came into sight, and for one brief moment I thought it was all going to be okay. The first trip was within my grasp. 

        I don’t remember exactly how it happened - where it all went wrong - but as I went to reach for my keys the “It’s a Boy!” balloon came loose. 

        I lurched for it in a panic, dropping all of the flowers and spilling water all over my pants. I couldn’t lose this balloon. This balloon represented my son, my new life, my ability to take care of a family that I didn’t want to disappoint. I must retrieve it.

        To my delight, the balloon became entangled in a small tree only ten feet away.

I ran towards the tree. I loved that tree. Just as I reached the beautiful heavenly tree, a breeze came from behind me and shook the balloon free. I lunged and felt the tip of the string barely brush my fingertips. 

I stood in silence watching the balloon float over the parking lot and into the city.  My heart ached and my eyes started to well with tears. 

         My first lesson…letting go.