I’m reminiscing today because later this week I plan to join some business colleagues at a White Sox baseball game, it got me thinking about our few, yet powerful, baseball experiences. Like the time Three years ago Marcus threw the opening pitch at our local baseball field. I think he nailed it. It was a fun game with other DSA families. I also got “locked out” of Facebook that day for sharing too many photos, I guess…? I don’t know, actually, but here’s the video Facebook made anyway
Grandma just moved into her new apartment so we went to to the store and meandered ever so slowly down the aisles to gather her list. A new toilet brush (though there were house-keepers cleaning the apartment), a gallon of bleach (don’t argue), crackers and snacks (to supplement the three complete meals served daily).
To be fair, she was also healing from heart surgery, so Marcus and I walked each careful step beside her.
Skip ahead to: shopping complete.
Marcus and Grandma waited outside the door while I pulled the car up to the curb. We unloaded the groceries and, as is the custom, Marcus headed off to do his duty of returning the cart.
I helped Grandma into the car and moved into the driver seat. I saw Marcus go in and could feel from the distance a little confusion. What he’s used to is a cart corral outside, but since we were so close to the front he took the cart inside. When he walked through the doors he could see to his left where the cards were corralled, but that area was blocked off. He had to continue through another set of double doors to return the cart, then proceed to the exit doors to come out. Little tricky. I could see him trying to work this out. I waited. I knew he would. And he did.
It seems to me that, regardless of what was to come next, this would have always been the most important day of my life. I got to hold him for a moment; I counted ten fingers and ten toes. He was the most precious boy ever born. I called my father to tell him that he was Grandpa Mark to a beautiful boy named Marcus, so named out of love and gratitude. All was going according to plan.
At about 8:00 a.m., the doctor came into the room and told me there were some concerns.
I was one of those moms that stared at her baby constantly. I marveled at him. Luckily, my friends also enjoyed this pastime. Maybe because we were broke. Staring at Marcus staring at the ceiling fan, or lying next to him and staring at the ceiling fan, was a hobby we could all afford.
Also because he was beautiful, he smiled readily, and his eyes sparkled.
I watched his deep blue eyes, expecting them to change into brown, or hazel, or in-between-green-and-something-else, like mine.
After he turned a year old, I celebrated the knowledge: Those blue eyes are here to stay!
A few months later he was at an evaluation of some sort with several clinical and scary looking people and one of them used the words: “Brushfield spots.”