We are at the tipping point. Amber’s near nine months of pregnancy simmers under sweltering Arkansas heat. I’ve heard it was 105 today in Texarkana. In Fayetteville, we’ve only just cracked triple digits.
I wish Titus Lee were here to see heat vapors swimming upwards from the pavement. It’d be a fascinating first sight, the way temperature becomes visible, the way mirages dance. The midwife says he has a few weeks to go, though. And besides, newborns can’t see more than a few inches in front of their noses.
I imagine that he’ll grow quickly. We all do. He’ll learn to eat solid food soon, learn to say “scared” instead of “scarwed.” He’ll have a first grade Sarah. They’ll be destined for marriage until he meets his fourth grade Emily, and so on. He might play piano or guitar or he might dunk a basketball. In high school, he might be in show-choir like his momma. They’ll sing Smells Like Teen Spirit, and he’ll tell us how much he loves that kind of classic rock. In college, he’ll major in partying until he meets Jesus. Or maybe he’ll major in Jesus from the get go. That’d make me proud. He’ll marry, have children, work a job. I hope he and his brothers eulogize me at my funeral. They’ll say I wasn’t perfect. But I hope they say rightly,
he was a good man; he was my dad.
And one day, when this breath is over, we’ll all stand around the throne with my folks, my grandfolks, and the great saints. We’ll remember the great mirages of summers past, and we’ll rejoice in fullness of the real.
*It goes so fast, Amber. Really. I think it does.