Exactly one year ago today, I was suffering from the second-worst hangover of my life (don’t ask about the first; I’ve willfully repressed the memory). It was the day after my old boss’s company farewell party where there was exponentially more wine than food. I’ve never drank that much on a work night nor felt that awful on a work day, but I made it to work on time and without vomiting. And I was more or less productive, too, plugging away at donor records and wishing with all my heart that someone would come to my cubicle and kill me, quickly, preferably with a blunt blow to the head.
Around 11am, I got a text message from my sister: “Can you call me?”
Looking back, I think I knew what I did because that was so out of character for her to text during a work day, especially with that request. I think somewhere in the back of my mind I knew she had an appointment coming up for an ultrasound regarding what she believed at the time to be an ovarian cyst. I don’t believe in psychics per se, but I do believe that intuition and perception occasionally come together to provide moments of absolute sureness and clarity. That certain pieces of the puzzle, like the information on the ultrasound and knowing my sister’s character, snap together in a deeper part of the brain and your subconscious knows what’s what before the rest of you. Whatever the reason, I knew before I picked up the phone what she was going to tell me.
And let me tell you, there is no better cure for self-pity in all the world than someone you love telling you that they are pregnant, and that they are scared. You stop feeling sorry for yourself in a damn hurry. I forgot all about my hangover. We talked every day that week about the future and what it would hold, and I listened as decisions were made.
That was one year ago exactly. Today Erika called to catch up and we talked for an hour and a half. We talked about work, our relationships, the Celtics-Lakers championship, and Owen. We are closer now than we have ever been, and I would be lying if I said it wasn’t because of that first week of June 2007 when we talked for a half hour or more every other day, even when we didn’t have anything to say. She gave me my first nephew, a beautiful chubby-faced squawking laughing baby boy. And Owen gave my sister and I the relationship we have; he gave me my best friend.
Today Owen is four months and one week. And today, he rolled over for the very first time. It’s amazing, isn’t it, what changes a year can bring?
I love that chubby-faced squawking laughing little boy; he’s given me and his parents more than he’ll ever know.