Elizabeth

I have three grand-daughters: Erin, Meghan and Elizabeth. They are gorgeous, brilliant, funny and dear and I love them with complete joy. But yesterday I spent a lot of time with Elizabeth who is fifteen months old and I came to see who she is and whom she's becoming. I'm still smiling this morning at the memory of her.

I was in the room when Elizabeth was born on a December night in Maryland. An amazing thing to share with your generous daughter and son-in-law. She was five weeks premature and we were quite concerned before the delivery. But that baby had decided that she was going to be born that night so....we got ready. Relieved, I saw her little body slide into the obstetrician's hands and heard her cry. But she had swallowed mecomium in utero and I stood off in a corner watching as the pediatrician used an instrument to suck what seemed like gallons of brown stuff out of her. Fear began to grip all of us. He took the baby away for tests and returned, stone-faced and emotionless, to tell Kate and Pete that their daughter had a double bowel obstruction and was going to be helicoptered to another hospital 80 miles away for immediate surgery. What on earth was happening?

I stepped out into the hall and looked for the doctor who had been so blunt and matter-of-fact with his horrible news I wanted to slap him. Catching up with him I asked, "How bad is this? Is this baby going to survive?" I can still see his immobile face as he said, "It's hard to say." No, God, I remember thinking, no way is this family losing this baby. I waited while Pete visited with Elizabeth in the NICU then I asked if I could see her too. He took me to her. She was so small and quiet in her bassinet. On instinct, I reached out, made the sign of the cross on her head and blessed her. I asked God to wrap himself around her, to guide the pilot who would fly her and the surgeons who would be opening her up in a matter of hours. And they bundled her off. Kate, who had sensed for weeks that something was wrong with this pregnancy, slept for a few hours and then checked herself out of the hospital so that she and Peter could get to Elizabeth. No way was anyone going to operate on their baby without them being there.

The weeks that followed were a hell I would not wish on anyone. Kate drove 80 miles one way, every day, to spend time with Elizabeth who did not respond well after the surgery. Despite tubes and machines and a hospital with an A+ reputation, the baby lost weight, was jaundiced, vomited all the time, became dehydrated. One Sunday my mother and I rode the train to see her, held her for a long time and knew that she was not getting better. Mom and I cried in the cab on the way back to the station, holding hands, afraid to admit to each other our fear that we might never see Elizabeth alive again. It was terrifying. In the meantime, Pete juggled childcare, work and getting to the hospital whenever possible. The rest of the family lived three hours away so we all worked out schedules either to get to the hospital and share the worry or go help with Erin and Meghan whose world had been turned inside out. I don't know how they managed it all.

After six weeks and many requests, Kate and Peter demanded to see the surgeon who had been invisible since the initial procedure. He deigned to appear, examined the baby and for the first time explained that he had left one obstruction unrepaired. Since she was doing so poorly he would have to go back in. "Enraged" does not begin to describe what we all felt when we learned this. Once the second obstruction was removed, Elizabeth slowly turned a corner but the quality of the care she received continued to be so poor that Kate and Pete concluded they could do better themselves. So they defied the doctors, got instructions on Elizabeth's special feedings, meds and care, packed her up and brought her home attached to an N-G tube, still small and jaundiced and tired. I was staying with Erin and Meg then and was lucky enough to share in this homecoming. "Lizzie," as the big girls called her, came home.

Becoming part of her family was just what our Lizzie needed. The morning after her arrival, I was rocking her in the family room as Kate and Pete prepared the special formula which fed through the N-G tube into her healing tummy. I talked quietly to her telling her she was home now with her family, she would feel better every day and there were people, music, dogs, toys and friends all around her to see and hear and get to know. And I watched her turn her head toward the window, blink her blue eyes at the morning light and open them wide. I swear I literally could see wonder in those eyes as she stared out the windows at a world she had never seen before. I was so startled, thinking, "This is the first time she's seen sunlight!" It was -- she'd been in that dim, quiet NICU for over two months. As we rocked I felt I was seeing her senses opening up to the possibilities around her. She turned her head back and looked up at me as if to ask, "Where have they been keeping this place?" and I started to laugh with relief and hope at her dear little face. It was amazing, unforgettable.

In the weeks that followed Lizzie began to recover, grow, develop, respond to the love, care and warmth around her. The NG tube came out and she shifted to all bottle feedings. Later, her "concoction" formula was replaced by the store-bought stuff. Gradually the nagging fear and worry over her began to fade. The love and determination of her steely Mom and Dad, the fun of becoming a sister were the most potent medicines. Elizabeth healed and so did her family. That summer they moved back closer to all of us and this frightening chapter in their lives and ours ended.

But yesterday, I was with Lizzie from breakfast time till mid-afternoon. And I got to watch, hear, chase and delight in "Miss Born to Be Wild!" She got down from her chair after breakfast and took off running, squealing, jabbering, giggling, dancing, opening and closing, climbing and tumbling for the morning. I thought her Mommy had been a bundle of energy was she was a toddler but.....oh no, this one has her beat! The delight that Miss Liz takes in just being alive is so pure.....even when she's being naughty you just have to laugh at her. It's like she's looking at you and saying, "You were afraid I might not be here, weren't you? Well I'm here, lady, adorable as can be and lovin' every minute of this life so jump on and ride with me. It's going to be great!" And I did exactly that, no holds barred.

The sweetest part of it all was that, once or twice, Lizzie turned around and ran to me with her arms open wide so that I could catch her, swing her up, hug her little body and kiss her pink cheeks. I think she's starting to figure out that this Mom-Mom person is OK -- and what could be sweeter than that? I gained Erin and Meghan's trust when they were little and have received incredible rewards from them. Now little Liz and I have bonded too. I see fun times ahead for years to come for this little wing-ding and me.

Best of all, I can see "years to come"....a long and joyous life ahead....for Busy Lizzie. Fortunately, she will never remember what she went through but her body is strong and her spirit is fearless, in part, because of it. And her happy nature shines through in her big blue eyes, her giggles, her curiosity and her complete delight in being here. I am beyond grateful for all three of these gifts, my grand-daughters. But for the rest of my life every time I hold Elizabeth I'll be whispering a silent "Thank you" from my heart to the God who agreed with me on that December night that there was no way we would lose her.

My Daughter

It snowed here today -- really snowed. One of those snow storms that made me think of home in Pennsylvania and the view from our kitchen window, where you could see across the neighborhood and up the hills covered with tall maples and pines. On a winter night the view was so clear you could see lights twinkling from houses across the way, smoke curling up from the stone chimneys on the hillside as the last flakes blew by. On the morning after a snowstorm, our neighborhood would be quiet but for the sound of scraping shovels on driveways as we waited for the snow plows to come clear the streets. And all of that made me think about sledding with my friend, Lorraine. There was only one way to spend such a day! We'd wrap ourselves in turtlenecks, squeaky snow pants, thick jackets and boots and meet outside, trudge up her street dragging our sleds to the highest point. In tandem, we'd toss those sleds on the icy surface, run with them a few steps, throw ourselves on and zoom down in the wind, screaming with the thrill of speed. The rest of our friends would be there too and we repeated that trek-up and whoosh-down until we all were happily blue with cold. Then we'd stagger up her driveway or mine, toss our wet things in the garage and warm up with cocoa and cookies in the kitchen. It was that kind of day today and I know there were scads of kids out there doing exactly the same thing.

I also remembered taking my daughter, Kate, sledding for the first time. She was just over two and I was pregnant with her brother. There was a gentle hill in an old Quaker cemetery that we could walk to from home. So we bundled her up, her Dad and I, and trudged on over to the hill where the neighborhood kids were gathering. And we pulled her up and rode down that hill with her, squealing and laughing in delight as she discovered the feel of the wind on her face and savored the sense of flying. I would rest here and there, waddling "with child" as I was. But her Dad kept going and she would clap and shout, "Again!" when he would zoom down alone and "crash" into a snowbank for her amusement. We made snow angels and sipped hot chocolate from a thermos before trudging off for home. It was a magical day filled with "firsts" with this adorable child. It's all so vivid to me today.

Kate is a mother now, three times over, and she is so good at it. She is tougher than I was and I respect that in her. But her heart is as full of love for her three girls as mine was and is for her. I'm so moved as I see them look to her for those cues we mothers give. My daughter often runs on her emotions which spring from her generous heart -- a heart that is often on her sleeve and gets battered around at times. But I've learned that her head will always catch up with her heart and that she will figure out how to go about doing the right thing, whatever challenge or situation she is confronted with in life. I trust her in that. Though she is often tired and pressed by her responsibilities, I also see that she is still filled with wonder at the world and takes delight in so many things. My child-on-the-sled is still there. She lives a full life and has her husband's love, the trust of three daughters and many friendships to savor. No one deserves these gifts more than my Katie B.

When you are blessed with such a beautiful soul in your life you can foolishly find yourself leaning on that soul too hard at times or assuming it has endless depths for anyone who reaches into it, including yourself. I have been guilty of that with my Kate in the past and I try to be more aware of it now. I think the lesson here is never to take for granted the generosity of such a soul. In my case, never forget that you are the mother, and whether your child is a toddler, teenager or grown woman she needs to know that she can still be the daughter and turn to you for a mother's strength and guidance. It never should tilt out of balance in the other direction. Will there be times when one needs the other more? Yes, all relationships must have that flexibility in them to survive and grow. But this woman, this daughter, means so much to me. I hope she knows that I will not take her for granted and that she can turn and find me there at any time for her, for anything.

Kate's place in my heart is like no other. She is one of my greatest blessings. I couldn't be prouder of her and the person she is. And no matter how old we both grow, how squarely we each stand on our own two feet, I hope she knows that I always will love her with a depth that took root from the moment I knew she was growing inside me. I don't have the words for it but I think she's beginning to understand what that means through the power of her love for her own daughters.

The sun is setting on this frosted day and the night cold will wrap itself around us. Chimney smoke will waft again into the dark sky, lights will glimmer from windows and people will tuck in against the cold until morning. But I'm warm in my heart tonight with the memory of my blue-eyed, freckle-faced, beautiful little girl skimming down a hill on her first sled-ride.....full of glee and delight, wonder and love. This is who my Kate is and she is always with me.