This time it was easy.
I’ve been present at a number of dramatic
family moments, many of which entailed a significant loss of sleep. But not yesterday.
This Sunday, after spending nearly a
month in California, our granddaughter, Jamie,
was headed back to Amsterdam. Officially, Rob and I said goodbye to her Saturday
night over a turkey dinner at Tracy’s
house. Unofficially, I wanted to be there when she actually
departed. So Sunday morning I showed up at our daughter’s home at ten a.m.
As expected, in that last half hour
some serious packing remained to be done.
But though her room was full of still-open suitcases, neither Tracy nor Jamie seemed the
slightest bit rushed. In spite of her six-month pregnancy and rather
magnificent girth, Jamie moved around easier than I did. How nimbly she darted up the stairs, how
simply she bent over to stuff more stuff in a suitcase. (The “stuff” being a plethora of gifts resulting
from two baby showers.)
“Ever seen these vacuum-sealed packages?”
she asked, handing me a square, see-through plastic container. At first glance it
appeared to hold dried fruit.
“Never,” I said, noting that the small
package was seriously heavy. Only with a close examination could I tell the
packet actually contained lots of severely-compressed clothes. Moments later
she used a pipe from the vacuum cleaner to suck air out of another such container.
Whoosh, whoosh, and the package flattened out, mashing the clothes until it
became half its size.
Next I witnessed an astonishing moment for
a bulging suitcase that defied all odds of ever achieving closure. Somehow Tracy’s
partner, Paul, managed to muscle together the two sides and actually zip the
zipper . .. which, on the other continent, would doubtless result in an
explosion. (I almost said to Jamie: “If
you want to know what your father was like, watch Paul.” )
“Jamie,” I asked, as she continued to
push and shove and over pack yet another suitcase, “how will you get the
airline to take three cases? With one of them weighing 70 pounds?”
“They’ll take two because I’m business
class.” She gave me a sweet, knowing
smile. “The third one--well, I think they’ll take that, too.” With such
a smile, I thought, they probably
will.
Which, of course, is what happened. (If that over-compressed suitcase didn’t actually explode, it must have come close.)
While my impromptu “showing up”
yesterday did not include a loss of sleep, other such events have.
Years ago, on Maui,
after Rob declared “Don’t wake ME for this crazy project,” I nevertheless rose
at four a.m. to join Chris’ new wife, Betty-Jo, Chris himself, and brother
Bobby . . . so I could be there when the two boys flew their hang gliders from
the top of Haleakala. In awe, Betty-Jo
and I watched in the dawn light as the two walked to the edge of a cliff and
one-by-one, in silent drama, stepped off the mountain and suddenly
disappeared—only to appear again as their wings caught the rising air.
Ultimately, Chris and Bobby set a 10,000-foot world altitude-drop record—soon
reported in newspapers everywhere. (That
was the year we started a family tradition—joining our kids on their
honeymoons.)
On a sadder note: The phone was on my side of the bed when Tustin Community
Hospital called at 3:00 a.m. to advise that a family member needed to come
immediately because Art Wills was critical.
Letting Rob sleep, I drove into the night, arriving in time to tell Rob’s
Dad, “We love you, Art.” With that, he
lifted his arm to his chest, as though saying goodbye. Seconds later, he was
gone.
A few years later, somebody called
after midnight . . . whereupon I jumped out of bed and hurried to a Santa Ana
Hospital at one a.m. to
see my first grandchild, Brandon, moments after
he was born. It happens I was standing just
outside the delivery room when I heard his first cry.
Over the years I’ve learned it pays to
be there for your family’s vital moments—even if it means a reluctant departure
from a warm bed. Long since I’ve learned that the sleep-deprived night is temporary
. . . but the resulting memories are permanent.
