A Saturday

Some thirty odd years ago on a Saturday perhaps much like this one, I was born. There was not much warning and, according to my mother, hardly any pain. By all accounts I was beautiful, wide eyed, and far more aware then any other baby this doctor had seen. And he had seen his share for he delivered my mother some twenty odd years before and I am sure many in the years between. My big eyes followed every movement and studied the faces around me as I drank in everything in seemly quiet study, so quietly in fact that the doctor was afraid that something may be wrong and proceeded to poke me until I finally peeped a small but very communicative protest and he smiled and left me alone.

When I had surveyed everything about me, it seemed I realized that something was missing, someone was not there. In my anguish, I began to cry uncontrollably and would not be comforted by those around. I only slept when I fell into an exhausted slumber after crying for hours. In reality, I cried myself to sleep, and did so for the entire first week after my birth. Mother could not sooth me, grandmother had no success. Grandfather's beautiful singing and whistling were of no consequence, and doctors were puzzled. And then as suddenly as it began the crying stopped the moment my father returned and lifted me in his arms for the first time. You see the man I had grown to know and love, who I thought would protect me and love me in return was not there when I was born, and I knew it and was broken hearted that he had left me all alone in this new and uncharted place.

Oh he had made attempts to be there when I was born. He had come home for two weeks around my due date and he and mother had tried everything to ensure I would come...when it was convenient for him. You see my father loved my mother and me probably the very best he knew how. But the way he was raised did not lend to him knowing much about love and fatherhood and sadly he never seemed to realize that what he knew was lacking and because of that he never really tried to learn. His first and true love was his work, and he was good at it. In fact in all the years (and at times they seem a hundred fold to what they are) I have wondered the earth, I have met a lot of people in my father's profession and in all honesty, he is one of the very best in the world. This was wonderful for all those to whom he rendered his professional services to. But to those of us who really knew and loved him, it meant we were always second at best. So he tried to be there, as the story goes. In reality however, he tried to make me there when it was best for him. As the universe would have it, or perhaps as my stubborn soul would have it, I did not enter on que and was born without my father there.

Once I realized he was gone, my little heart broke and I cried and wailed, mourning a loss my soul as of yet had no other way to articulate but in cries of sadness and grief.

The moment he returned and held me and told me he was there once more, my crying ceased and I was one of the happiest, easiest, and well behaved babies many had ever seen. I thought everything would be ok from that day forward because my daddy, my protector, the only man I really knew and loved, was there with me. And I had no fear, no sadness, no worries for a short time. And life was bliss.

Now it is my birthday. There is no parade. No real warning. No special holiday. No presidential address. And I try my hardest always to cause as little pain as possible. And I am born again. My soul is beautiful and wide eyed. It is quiet and aware. As I drink in my surroundings in quiet study, some may think I am not ok. And I will allow a communicative protest.....

I begin to cry. No one seems to know why. But I realize the man I love the most is not here and I mourn his absence. You see his first love is his game. He doesn't know it, and would probably deny it. But those who love him and truly know him would tell you in a moment without hesitation. And he tried to celebrate my birthday, when it was convenient for him. He did everything he could to make it the most wonderful and special birthday ever. But the universe did not allow it. My birthday did not come. It came today. I am in a world where every day brings a new world and without him I feel lonely and afraid to face it. Uncharted and new, a day and year begin once more. Once more I am alone.

And the man I love the most is not here.

And so I mourn.

Once again it is a Saturday, it is my birthday, the man that I love is with his first love, and I am alone.

Some one hundred years from now, if we are still on this earth, perhaps on a Saturday much like this one, I will die.

There may not be any warning and I hope there will be no pain. I hope my soul was beautiful by all accounts and my eyes were wide open to the world and goodness around me. I pray my big eyes followed all that was pure and that I studied faces and movements about me. May I have been far more aware then most. Not always quiet , and some may still think something was wrong with me, but this time because of the joy, love, passion, and kindness with which I drank everything in. And I trust in a quiet firm way I protested all that was wrong.

Once again it is perhaps a Saturday, it is my dying day,  I do not know where the man that I love is, but I hope I am not alone.