The Beautiful Boy

Today, as many times before, I'm waiting in the surgical waiting area. My daughter, Karli, is once again having surgery. She's had so many in the past five years that we've all lost count. As I sit here I remembered being here two years and several surgeries ago. My grandson, Jakob, was with me as we waited. I wrote this as I watched him wait for him mom.


She watched intently as the skinny little boy with the curly blonde hair played on the rooftop terrace of the hospital. His mother, her daughter, was in surgery again for the fourth time in a little over a year.

She knew that Beautiful Boy was worried and gazed at him with the concern of a grandmother. He was so handsome with his enchanting smile and quick wit, but she worried about what was hidden behind those smiling brown eyes.

Rays of the soft autumn sunshine that fell on his sweet face made her think that God indeed had special plans for this young child.

He watched with a knowing look as the scarlet and tangerine colored leaves fell from their homes on the stately maple trees that were planted on the manicured grounds of the hospital. They gracefully floated down, gliding with the breeze and coming to rest around the life giving roots of those trees. Soon they would decompose and the cycle of life would begin once more. Beautiful Boy was bright enough to know that all things must come to an end; he just prayed that this wasn't the time that God would call his mother home.

He had endured much loss in his eight years, he deserved a break. The angels took his baby brother, Isaiah, home just 12 weeks after he had been born on the second floor of this very hospital. Two years later his baby brother Josiah was born three months early. Everyone was afraid of angels also coming for this baby, but they didn't. Josiah came home three months later healthy and thriving. During this time Beautiful Boy had to endure the death of his great grandmother, although to him she was more of a grandmother, especially since she was about the age of his friends' grandmothers.

Beautiful Boy had to watch the grief of his mom and her mom, a grief that seemed to never end and left them lost in a hazy fog. He took what he had witnessed and hid it deep in his heart behind barriers of smile and sparkling eyes.

Then came the Baby Diva, also born three months early. Beautiful Boy was frightened once again, more now that he was older. He still wasn't old enough to put into words what he felt, but you could see it in his soft brown eyes.

Several weeks later the family got the terrible news that his mom's Papa Airplane had died of a broken heart from losing his wife the year before. Beautiful Boy's eyes now carried a deeper sadness that was hidden behind the twinkle he always had and the ever present smile on that handsome dimpled face. But a grandmother can see these things and she worried about him.

She continued to watch him take in God's world that perfect fall day. The dormant Mt Hood was to the east. Snow was beginning to cover its picturesque peaks. He watched the birds flying in and out of the scarlet and orange trees. He thought and wondered about not only his mommy, but about life itself and just how fragile it is. Beautiful Boy had learned lessons that many adults take decades to learn and he knew that it wasn't over yet.

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When Will I Learn?

I learned a very important lesson: always use the parents stock phrase "we’ll see" or "maybe" even when replying to your grandkids. Some of you know that I’ve been on a tortoise hunt. Jake asked me for a turtle several months ago for his birthday. My usual answer to the grandkids is "of course. Of course you can have marshmallows, of course you can have those shoes, of course I’ll find you an elusive and very expensive tortoise that will require hundreds of dollars to make sure the freaking thing lives for at least a month."

It was my fault. I slipped up. Never mind that all of the kids, grandkids included, know when to ask me for something. Wait until she’s on the computer, cooking dinner or painting and then in your sweetest voice ask for whatever you want. They know that I have no ability to multitask, and I’ll just say "sure" to whatever they ask.

"Mom, can the entire football team come over for home made pizzas and an all night video game war?"

"Sure".

"Mom, can I have your credit card so I can order these boots online?"

"Sure"

"Mom, can we have these three guinea pigs that they say are girls, but one will turn out to be a boy and we’ll have baby guinea pigs for months before you get so fed up with them and us that you give a choice : either you kids or the guinea pigs are going on craigslist, please mom, please?"

"Sure"

Actually I think it was after the last one we had to make it law that no one could ask me for anything unless I was looking them in the eye and repeated what they had asked for before confirming or denying the request. It’s funny how the requests dropped off after I went to the secret hidden parent’s handbook and learned the magical phrases "we’ll see" and "maybe later".

I know precious knowledge of tactical manipulation has been carefully preserved and passed from child to child and now to grandchild. It’s a conspiracy. I am an X-file. Sculley and Mulder will show up on my doorstep one day, of that I’m sure.

When I realized my blunder regarding the tortoise what could I have done? I could have said "Nana was nuttso then and I can’t get you the million dollar tortoise." I could have just said "You have a beagle that I bought for you, where the heck is she? Give her a shell." But no, one look in those little brown eyes that had began to fill with conjured up alligator tears and I knew what I had to do. I had to find the tortoise.

Now I know why my grandmother did what she did. We were back in west Texas checking on the farm one hot summer day and I saw a little blue fish that I wanted. This little blue fish was swimming in the reservoir by the windmill. He was a tiny fish, in a big, concrete rectangle filled with murky, slimy water. But I wanted it. My grandmother looked everywhere for something to catch that tiny creature with. There was no net, no bucket, nothing but a small jelly jar. She rolled up her pants to her knees, climbed over the side of the reservoir, jelly jar in hand, and began to stalk the fish. As I look back and remember I laugh thinking of her going from side to side bent over at the waist, wading in the icky water holding the jar with her perfectly manicured hands, her dangly earrings glistening in the sunshine, muttering. Now I know what she was muttering. Under her breath she was cursing herself for promising me that she would catch the fish that was destined to die within a day. It was the same muttering I was doing on my search today.

I also have realized the incredible joy you are filled with when your grandchild looks at you when you have searched for, and captured their dream. When you hand it to them and see their smile and they know that you have made their wish come true. It is the most amazing feeling in the world. That’s why, I assume, I can still see my own grandmother in the tank. Only a grandparent would do such a thing for a child. I hope that Jakob remembers this day as well. What are grandparents for after all, if it’s not to create memories for the grandchildren to cherish and to pass down?

I guess it kinda makes up for being a parent and telling the kids "No! you’ve already had a soda this year!" or "By the way, here’s a twenty, go pick up a birthday cake for your party." No I wasn’t that bad, I don’t think so anyway.

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