In ten short weeks – yes, I said ten – I’ll officially be an aunt. I’m fairly certain this makes me “old,” but I’m super excited anyway and simply had to share the news with everyone I possibly could!
My little brother, age 22, and his girlfriend, nearly 21 years old, are having a baby boy! He is due Oct. 27 and, as of now, they plan to name him Jaydan Michael. This little guy below – ultrasound photo from earlier today – will be carrying on our family name, as my brother is currently the last male in line.
I totally stole this from my brother's girlfriend's Fbook album. Sorry!
It’s so unbelievable to me that my brother – a boy who played with legos from dawn to dusk, who would build igloos in the yard after a huge snowfall, who would jump on the bed with me as we sang Red Hot Chili Peppers – is becoming a father.
Sure, he’s only 22 and with that brings a need for quick maturity once that baby is born, but nowadays, 22 isn’t exactly an age where much fear needs to accompany parenthood. Of course I’m scared for him, nervous the responsibility will be too much for my brother whose idea of fun still is racing BMX and showing his car off at auto shows. But what parent reasonably enters that phase of his or her life completely knowing what to do?
The announcement of baby Jaydan surely came as a shock – especially considering my brother decided to wait until his girlfriend was seven months pregnant to share the news with my family* - but as that little boy’s soon-to-be aunt and godmother, I’m beyond thrilled to welcome him into this world and spoil him rotten! And with any luck, the new family of three will move to North Carolina in the next year to join my parents and I.
I certainly did not expect to be an aunt at 24 years old**, but I am, without a doubt, ecstatic about my nephew and he’s not even here yet! Do I wish I could be in Pennsylvania to properly introduce myself to the little guy? Of course I do, but pictures and a few brief visits back home to see Jaydan will have to suffice for the time being. All I know is Oct. 27 cannot arrive soon enough!
* That’s another story and more personal than necessary for my blog. Sorry folks. But if you saw my Twitter around Aug. 8-10, you could see my surprise as well as several other emotions when the information was finally revealed.
** …Even if I nearly always knew my brother would have a child before me.
I debated whether or not to write this – and I’m still arguing with myself as I type – because delving into my personal life here is typically something I avoid. But the pull is strong, so I’ll write what I can and hope it turns out coherent.
For the last several months, my grandfather (my mother’s father) has been battling prostate cancer. And speaking to him last night, on Father’s Day, as he told me he had only ten days left of radiation, I couldn’t help but think of a million amazing memories with him that have made this process hard on me despite the tough exterior I reveal.
…Damn it. I’m crying already.
From going to chip-and-putt to the days he’d pick my brother and I up at daycare, promptly at 5:30 p.m. The vanilla milkshake he always ordered when we’d eat at Burger King. The morning breakfasts we’d occasionally share before I went to school. The way he likes his coffee – no cream, two teaspoons of sugar. The crazy songs on the juke box that he’d sing, including “Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini,” and how he’d call my grandmother from work and leave her messages of “their” song: “I Just Called to Say I Love You.”
This is the man who first introduced me to computers and taught me how to properly type. The man who comprises every ounce of Italian blood I possess. The man who lightheartedly claims his favorite color is “sky blue pink,” who makes the BEST breakfast-for-dinner meals, and who jokingly says:
Grandpa: My best friend is Sobby Beymour.
Me: You mean Bobby Seymour?
Grandpa: That’s what I said: Sobby Beymour.
Although I’ve had considerably less time with my grandfather than my mother and grandmother, the two people I talk to most frequently about his cancer, it pains me to know that he’s waging this war daily. But because of the relationships they both have with him, I try to be the hard-shelled girl who listens and says, “he’s going to be okay” and “he’ll get through this,” instead of adding my worries to the mix. After all, prostate cancer has such a high cure rate that it’s difficult not to look at this optimistically, even if that confidence sometimes falters.
It wasn’t an irregular conversation with my grandfather last night, nor was it terribly long. But in the brief minutes of our phone call, it was just me and him. I wasn’t really calling for my grandmother and saying “hey” to my grandpa as I waited for her to come to the phone. I wanted to speak to him, to wish him the best this Father’s Day, and to selfishly hear him say he was feeling okay, even if I knew he’d be lying to me. And at the end of that phone call, I told him I loved him, and he said it back. For many, that’s normal, but growing up, “I love you, too” was not something my grandfather would utter often. I’d always say those three words first, and he’d reply with, “Me too,” to which I’d remark, “I know you love yourself grandpa, but ‘do you love me’ is the question.” He’d just laugh it off and say some form of “yes,” but each time he replies with “I love you, too,” it’s nothing short of amazing.
Crap. More tears. No wonder this is taking four hours to write.
He’s a short full-blooded Italian man with some spunk, I’d say, and it saddens me to see my jovial grandfather so downtrodden as a result of this cancer. The man who would play golf three times each week, or more, and play around on his computer for hours now remains exhausted and miserable. My grandmother tells me he’s constantly depressed, wanting to throw in the towel and accept death as his fate. That breaks my heart, yet I keep those thoughts bottled in, refusing to believe this 74 year old man will ever leave this earth, let alone in the near future. After all, since the day I was born, he’s been the most consistent father figure in my life. How could he not be there one day?
And now I can’t stop crying… Writing this at work was really stupid.
When my mom told me the news – as I sat in the drive thru of Taco Bell – my immediate reaction was “should I come home?” She told me not to, and somewhere in my mind I knew that wouldn’t do much good regardless. But at times like these, the 500 miles seems like a trillion. Being so far away and unable to help him get through this, I’m left with few options in showing him my care, concern and fervent hopes for the absolute best outcome. The devices I’m left with, cards and phone calls, likely do little, but hopefully it’s enough for him to realize that his battle never leaves my mind and I’m sending him lots of love and prayers – yep, prayers – every day.
As these last two weeks of radiation wind down, my entire family will probably remain on edge, crossing our fingers that the cancer has been eradicated. Until then, I’m going to do my best to be the rock they – especially and primarily my grandmother – need right now, the one who refuses to believe any options other than remission are possible. I’m not fooling myself, I know what could happen. But I also know the odds, and with them in his favor, I’ll be the cheerleader, I’ll be the optimist, I’ll be the believer.
… Truth be told, I’m just not ready to stop hearing my grandpa say “I love you, too.” I waited my entire childhood for those four syllables, and I’m not ready in the least bit to never hear them again.
