Happy Birthday, Little Loves

yes, they have red hair.....

August 5, 2008

 

It was Sunday night, August 4, about the time that I am writing this.  We were at my Mother’s kitchen table, playing Monopoly, Jeremy, their “Father” and me.  I was winning.  I was also in labor, but I didn’t say anything until I was positive.  Finally, when the pains had gotten closer together, I told them that I thought it would be a good idea to go to the hospital.

 

God bless Dr. Mac.  He was waiting for me.  He said that we had until in the morning before they came, but they were on their way.  I was due on September 23, my 17th birthday.  I really wasn’t planning on them being here in August.  But they were in a hurry to start this thing called “life”.  They didn’t want to wait.  He said that he wanted to “check some things” before they came.

 

Very early the morning of August 5, Dr. Mac very gently told me that I would have to have a C-section, because I’m not a very big person.  His brother, Dr. Bob, was going to do the surgery.  That’s when their “father” s Mother told me that she would raise them if I died on the operating table.  I was…. disciplined, to use my Andy’s word, even then.  I looked her straight in the eye and said, “I think not.  Now go away.”  (She’d also told me that I looked like an over inflated frog, and that the babies better not have red hair and brown eyes, because they’d be “ugly”.)

 

I remember when they came, Rick at 11:58 and J at 11:59.  I didn’t ask if I had a boy or a girl, or two of one, or one of each.   My first question?  “My baby does have red hair, right?”.  I remember the room filling with laughter.  They did that, my boys.  They filled the room with laughter.  Every physician in Dale County was there.  (No, I am not exaggerating.)  Back then, twins were a rarity.  I’ll always remember that.  The laughter.  Then they put me to sleep and that was it for a while.

 

They didn’t let me take them home for 9 days.  They were feisty, my wee ones.  Refused to stay wrapped in a blanket.  Refused to be separated.  They had to put them in the same incubator.

 

I opened one of my boxes of Grief Gremlins a few days ago.  I dressed them in yellow to take them home.  Their outfits literally swallowed them.  They both would have fit in one.  I held those outfits, so tiny, and remembered.  How did such small babies grow into 6′ tall men?  How did two young men who found the joy in everything, who embraced LIFE with such passion, end their lives?  I don’t understand it.  I never will.

 

That is the reality.  Suicide is indiscriminant.  It doesn’t matter if you’re rich or poor, beautiful or ugly, smart or dumb as dirt.    Suicide simply doesn’t care.  It.  Does.  Not. Care.  It takes away the very best of the very best.   It isn’t a character flaw, or a sign of weakness, or cowardly.  It is an illness.  A TREATABLE illness.

 

Today, I am going to be very sad, and there will likely be tears.  But those tears of sadness will be mingled with tears of joy.  The red ringlets, down to their shoulders.  Their refusal to wear anything that didn’t have a “Sesame Street” character on it.  “Bee Bir” shoes.

 

Jason, the leader, the prankster.  Rick, my quiet healer.  Always wearing 2 tee shirts.  I called one their “auxiliary shirt”.  Me and my shoe obsession.  Rick saying, “I’ve got to tell you, Mom.  Those shoes are butt ugly”.  I still have them.  I still wear them.

 

All the years of lifeguarding at Shipwreck, then certifying the new life guards.  All the years of racing.  The 5K’s.  The 10K’s.  The marathons.  The time of waiting tables and bartending, because, “Mom, do you know how much FUN this is?”.

 

One day soon, I’m going to make spoonbread.  And that is going to be a huge step.  But something I’ve learned, a lesson we all need.  Life is for the living.  I am going to laugh out loud at some point today.  I’m going to remember.  I’m going to run in the wind.  I came here to live.  And I’m going to.

 

J, Rick, you were my life.  You know that.  Now you are bright shining stars in the sky, working hard at being Guardian Angels.  I love you.  More than there are words.  I miss you.  More than there are words.  I need you, more than there are words.  I will never be the same, not since you left.  But I’m gonna be the best ME that I can be, every single day.

 

Happy Birthday.  Run with the wind, hurdle the clouds, and pole vault over the moon.  See you again someday.

 

Your Little Mother

Maximum respect,
 
Brenda Adkins, always Red’s & Red Man’s Mom
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