Remembering a 'birth' day

Today is Landon's 9th birthday.

I wish I could share the excitement we felt the day he was born, but I can't.  You see, we didn't know Landon until he was 5 weeks old.  He was a Safe Haven baby, left at a hospital by his birth mother, then put into foster care with a wonderful couple who cared for him until his Forever Family could be found.

But when I think about it, I really do remember the day he was born.

Dad died on Dec. 31, 2009.  After the funeral on the following Tuesday, and spending a few days helping Mom with thank you notes and being sure she would be allI right staying by herself without him, we returned home.

It was the week before classes began, and it was also the first week in our new building at Ivy Tech-Logansport.  I was in charge, for the first time, of Adjunct Orientation which was on Thursday, January 7, the normal time for that event during non-instructional week. While we were in Ohio, I had spent time at Panera Bread using their Wifi since Mom and Dad did not have it at the house, and I sent most of the needed documents to either Susie at our campus or to Ethan at the Kokomo campus since he was on the committee and offered to help.

That day and evening I went through the motions of the event.  Kevin helped me as best he could.  I was fortunate that we had decided to hold the meetings in three separate locations, mainly to give those adjuncts who would be teaching in the new building the opportunity to explore the workroom, their mailboxes, their classrooms, and to acclimate themselves.

The event was draining for me, though, and Kevin, Tom, and Kim all encouraged me to stay at home the next day to rest, re-group, and prepare on my own time, and to stay away from the campus.  I did.  I stayed home.

I remember on that Friday, being alone in the house.  I am not sure where Gary was, probably at his folks, taking care of the cattle, or doing something on the farm.  Maybe he was just giving me some time alone.  I am not sure.

But I sat in his recliner and just sobbed.  I missed my dad so much. In my mind I knew he was not suffering anymore, but that sounded like such a cliche and it bothered me to even say it.  But having seen him on the evening of Dec. 30 hurt so much.  He was so frail, so thin, so weak, so tired.  He was thirsty, and Gary fed him ice chips and tried to help him sip small amounts of water.  Weak as he was though, he squeezed my hand so hard before I left, but I can still see the hollow look in his eyes as they met mine for the last time.  The last thing I remember him saying was "You're a good guy, Gary.  A good guy." which were words of high praise from my father.

I cried and cried and cried.  I hurt inside and out.  I didn't know how I would plan, prepare, teach on Monday.  I prayed for peace, for comfort, for the feeling that life would return to some sort of normal and that we would move on.  I thought about how difficult Mom would be, how hard it was going to be for Greta to care for her, and how Dad had apologized to each of us for leaving us with her.  More tears. More sadness.  More grieving.

Then, and I don't know what time it happened, but it did.  I felt a wave of peace wash over me.  I was calm.  My tears were dried.  I felt like I could go on.  I felt like Dad was telling me that he was fine, that I would be fine, and that I would be able to work through the remaining time with Mom.

At the end of January we met Hilary and Blaine for lunch at Red Lobster at its old location.  They had news.  There was a Safe Haven baby in Portage (I think) that was available for adoption. Their case worker had asked if she could submit their file for review as possible parents for that baby.  They agreed, and they were selected to be the parents of that baby boy.

After a flurry of preparations, after driving past the house of the foster parents a few days before they went to meet the baby for the first time, after they finally brought the baby home, it occurred to me to check out his birthdate on the calendar to see if I could remember what I was doing that day.

It was January 8, the day that I was sitting in the recliner, sobbing about Dad.  It was the day that suddenly a sense of peace and comfort came over me, and I felt like I could carry on.

When I told my students about the new baby, and, for the life of me, I cannot recall why they were all standing in the hall outside of my office, and when I showed them the pictures on the screen of my office computer, there were exclamations of joy and some tears.  One student took me aside and told me this:

"Mrs. Siemens.  I know what happened.  Your dad died and went up to heaven on Dec. 31.  When he saw God, he said to Him, 'God, my granddaughter and her husband need a baby.  What are we going to do about it?'  Then Landon was born on January 8 and here he is!  It was meant to be!"

That still gives me chills.

So no.  I can't share a story about being at the hospital and waiting to see my newborn grandson soon after his birth.

But I can remember his birthday---and the feeling I felt when the peace surrounded me that day as I sat in the recliner.

And I know that Dad had a part in it, which is why Landon seems to 'know' Grandpa Norm and has picked up so many of his mannerisms and wants to know more about World War 2 and asked for Grandpa's drafting table for his room.

Happy Birthday, Landon.  You are one special grandson!