It’s Thursday evening and I’m writing from a small yellow table in the corner of a McDonald’s PlayPlace.  In about an hour, I’ll be heading to Knoxville which means my little ladybug will be spending some quality time in her car seat this evening (departure time conveniently scheduled for bedtime!).  I thought she might like to get some energy out before our trip and, since I’m not feeling up to chasing her through my house or any other location for that matter, we’ve found ourselves being guests at this lovely germ-laden indoor playground.  I’m allowing the red slide to parent her for a few minutes, but even that seems to be working in my favor — almost every single time she comes down it, I’m being offered a hug which I’m gladly accepting in between short bursts of typing.

I’ve had another full day of feeling good!  My throat is still giving me some trouble, but I can now drink and eat fairly easily which makes a big difference.  I’ve been back at work on a full-time basis for over a week now and, believe it or not, I am currently caught up on both my and Aviean’s laundry, too.  I realize this isn’t impressive to those of you with husbands, careers, children, etc. but I like to celebrate the small victories and may I assure you that an empty laundry basket is most certainly an achievement we can all celebrate.

Aviean and I are headed to Knoxville tonight because, tomorrow morning, I’ll be attending a funeral.  One of my childhood friends, Ashley, lost her grandfather this week and I’ll be joining her family in celebrating his life.  He was a decorated military veteran and will be given a funeral fitting of the honor he’s due and, at her family’s request, I’ll be photographing certain parts of the service.  I had already planned to be at the funeral and am glad that there’s at least a little something I can “do” for them right now, even if it’s small.

Over the last couple of days, as Ashley has begun working through the grieving process, we’ve talked (through texts, mainly) about the miracle of life.  If you’ll remember, it was only a few months ago that Ashley welcomed her second child into the world while I stood by watching, camera in hand. Now, a few short weeks later, she’s watched mortal life slowly leave someone she loves very deeply.  When she texted to tell me her grandfather had been admitted to the hospital, I couldn’t help but think about the call I received a few months ago letting me know she was in labor.  When she told me he had been sedated, I thought about the arrival of her anesthesiologist with an epidural.  And when she told me that he was gone, I thought about the moment I watched her son enter the world.

The night that Ashley gave birth, I came back to the hospital after her other visitors had left.  It was late and I thought that I would see how she was feeling, if that darling baby needed to be held.  She was awake and, as I sat beside her hospital bed holding her promise, I told her that I thought that childbirth might be the closest way to experience God while still being mortal because, when that baby is placed in your arms, it is with the knowledge that the last arms holding it before yours were those of our very God.

If you have read my blog for awhile, you may have realized that, while I was holding Ashley’s baby that night, I was marking a year since the baby who lived in my house had left.

– — –

I made a mistake and I want to attempt to make it right.

In 2008, one of my college roommates came to live with me when she found out that she was pregnant as a single woman.  She was alone and I wanted her to come; if she had not come to me, I would have gone to her.

With her full permission and blessing, I blogged about her journey with me for months.  I told you about her first doctor’s appointment, the baby shower some friends and I gave her and the night he was born.

And then, when she left one morning while I was in the shower for a new life in another state, I made a mistake.  I blogged about it.

When I think about those days, the rational side of me knows that I was experiencing shock and that the actions I took in those first few moments were born out of that shock, stress and grief.  There were people locally who knew that something was amiss and, in the middle of all of that pain, I decided to just go ahead and address it on my blog before anyone else had the chance to begin speculating and make false assumptions about her, the baby or myself.  I wrote through tears and handled it in what I thought — truly, honestly thought at the moment — was the best way.

It wasn’t.

I should have not written that post (which no longer exists and hasn’t for some time now).  I should have given an explanation that she was no longer living in my house and left it at that.  But I didn’t and, over the year and a half that has followed, I’ve regretted telling you how she left and how it hurt me more times than I can begin to tell you.  I have sent an apology to her at the last contact information I had for her and, in addition to that apology, I wanted to publicly apologize to her as well.  I’ve had this on my heart for awhile and I didn’t want to go another day without doing it.

– — –

I apologize, M.  Please forgive me.