Safe Passage

It’s my 63rd birthday.

It’s also the day my daughter and her husband are prepping to deliver my firstborn grandchild into this surreal and dystopian world we’re living in❤️ 

Sitting on my yoga mat this morning, prayer hands at my heart, I turned inward, listening for today’s intention/dedication.

Safe passage…

My heart swelled as I transmitted this message with all of my being to my daughter, Jamie, her husband, Jose, and my soon to be born grandson.

Tears formed behind my closed eyelids, leaking out of my eyes. Having already shed a few tears when my eldest sister called to wish me happy birthday, I realized they would likely be a recurring companion throughout my day.

After yoga, I immersed myself in the birthday cards that had arrived from my girlfriends and my Mom. When I spoke with my 92-year-old mother, our voices quivered as we attempted to remotely express the boundless love beaming between us. Tearing open a package from a dear friend, my heart swelled even larger, reading the inscription on the sacred totem she had sent:

Bless the Child who Lives Here

Fill His Life with Love and Cheer

Keep Him Safe, Year After Year

Lifting my eyes, I gave thanks to the universe for the serendipitous timing of this openhearted gift.

Determined to get a socially distant BFF walk in before the sun gave way to the gloomy forecast, my heart soared when my phone dinged. Noticing it was from the “Fam” text chain we had started that morning, I stopped to read it.

“Question, I might need someone to run some masks to the hospital that we left at home,” Jose texted.

“I’ll do it!!!” I immediately responded. “I should be there in about 40 minutes and will text when I get there. I literally planned to drive there anyways to be near you in spirit🥰”

Entering the hospital lobby, masked and hands sanitized, I waited in line (six feet behind the masked man in front of me). Jose arrived just as I approached the masked receptionist.

“Do we have a baby?” she excitedly exclaimed.

“Not yet,” he smiled.

Informing me it would likely be 18-24 hours before things really got moving, we locked eyes, silently acknowledging our helplessness and heartbreak around the forced isolation accompanying all births in this crazy coronavirus world.

Sitting in the parking lot, dusky clouds stealing in overhead, I stared at the windows wondering which one might be Jamie’s.

“What’s your room number?” I texted. “Wondering if you have a window and if so, what it faces—street? Parking lot?”

A picture appeared from Jose. “All we have is a service dock!”

“Perfect visual! I WILL locate that loading dock!”

“I’m picturing Mom trying to sneak onto this loading dock and having a SERIOUS laugh,” my daughter Erin texted.

“Um, I literally just said Mom will get arrested trying to find this room,” Jamie responded.

Amidst several Lmao’s, I replied, “You know your mother so well.”

Snaking in and out of several parking lots, scanning right and left for a loading dock across from a green dumpster next to a white van, I eventually parked in the street outside the ER. Walking around yellow hazard tape over several orange cones, I spotted the loading dock! 

Hearing a car door open before I saw the security guard approaching me, I stopped dead in my tracks. 

“Are you here for testing?” he asked.

“No, I’m just trying to find my daughter’s room. She’s having a baby! See, this is the picture my son-in-law sent and I think it’s up there,” I pointed.

He smiled affectionately, his warmhearted eyes gently gazing into mine. “You can’t be here.”

“I know,” I answered contritely, turning to go.

“Good luck,” he called after me.

“Thank you,” I replied, waving.

Before I drove away I sent them a picture and texted, “Ok found you❤️ Already got kicked out by a very kindhearted security guard who wishes you well😂”

“Okay, hahahaha,” Jamie replied. “Glad he was kind.”

“I feel better now that I know where you are. Felt so good to be ‘here.’ Know that I will be just outside, off and on, till your son makes his entry into the world. Given they’re predicting 18-24 hours before things get moving I’m going to head home😂

For now.

Love you, Jamie, so very much❤️ You’re going to do GREAT and be such an amazing Mom❤️”

Driving home on Rt. 88, the clouds finally opened up, a torrent of raindrops pounding my windshield. The rhythm of the wipers melded with my tears, complementing the sound of the  pulsing rain.

Safe passage…

That’s all we can ask for during this bizarre moment in history, isn’t it? So many families are facing losses far more horrific than mine.

So I can’t be physically present to support my daughter’s delivery. So I may have to wait to hold my precious grandson. To softly sing a lullaby into his newborn ear. To embrace my daughter.

We all have to settle for safe passage right now. 

Stay safe. Stay strong. Stay well.

Holding you all in my heart,

Auntie L