Christmas May Come Now - My Babies Sleep and I listen to their breathing....

Since Katherine left for Smith College, we have always skyped her in to decorate the tree. This year with her in Edinburgh, it was no different

The only sounds I hear right now are raindrops against the windows and the soft rhythmic breathing of my daughter, Emma. I am still awake at 3:25 this morning because my daughter Katherine arrived home from Scotland four hours later than had been expected.

My adrenaline is still heightened from the moment I looked out the windshield of my Mazda CX5 and saw a plane descending into Bakersfield’s airport.

“Oh, no…. that must be Katherine’s plane!”

“I don’t want her to arrive at the gate and not be there for her!”

I picked up my speed but the slippery roads proved threatening. I breathed consciously, attempting to keep my wits about me but as soon as I turned off the car I literally ran toward the small-sized airport, praying all the way she wasn’t standing alone and forlorn someplace in the lobby waiting area.

I saw a crowd waiting at the one gate from the airplanes and knew the passengers hadn’t deplaned yet.

I cried as a crowd cheered for a soldier, returning on leave. There were three sailors, including a woman, and another member of the US Army.  I cried for them all. One of the Sailors was wearing an outfit that appeared to be just like my father wore when he was a twenty-one year old sailor. “Your Grandpa was in the Navy,” I said to Samuel.

“I don’t want to be in the Navy,” he said, “You can go to war and get killed.”

I added, “Grandpa was in the Navy.” as an example of someone not getting killed.

“I know,” Samuel said gently.

We stared at the gateway door. I inched my way toward the door as families greeted one another, blocking the exit and frustrating – needlessly – me.

Eventually I saw my twenty-year-old and three-hundred-sixty-four day old Katherine coming around the corner. She was wearing a bright pink sweatshirt, carrying her London Fog jacket, and had her large backpack on her shoulders. She waved, smiling, and I fought tears.

I wanted to look so composed, which is sort of ridiculous for my children as they always expect I will cry. I secretly think my emotions make them feel more loved because my tears are so vocal and my laughter, so visible.

I didn’t want to let go of her as we shared a long, long hug. I asked Samuel, “Do you want to hug Kathie?” and he almost leaped into her arms, holding her so tightly. He is usually a reserved hugger but this time there was no holding back.

All she wanted to do was go to sleep.

She took five minutes to prepare and then she came out to say goodnight. We hugged again, close and tight. “Did my scar scare you?” I whispered into her ear.

“No, it didn’t,” she answered. My crazy Santa hat probably scared her more than my scar at almost three o’clock in the morning.

I look forward to seeing how her time in Scotland changed her. It is impossible that she

Emma, Katherine and Samuel unwrap the gifts under our 2011 tree.

came back without turning some pages in her human development. Tonight, though, she was simply my baby who first greeted me twenty-one-years ago tomorrow, on Christmas day, three weeks early.

I couldn’t have imagined this moment as I told her little, crying self, “I’ve waited so long for you.”

Tonight, it was a long wait. Just like in the maternity wing at  the hospital, I couldn’t be happy.

My babies are all tucked in. All is well.

Christmas can come now.

 

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© 2012 by Julie Jordan Scott