Twenty

Twenty years ago a scream pierced the room. Blocked by a solid white shroud across my knees, paralyzed from the waist down, and surrounded by various bulky equipment, I could not see it but could hear that it was moving clockwise around the space. The banshee-like yell was incessant, and I feared for my future with this new thing. I could tell the bearer of the bundle was stopping at various stations and talking with other facilitators as hushed muffled conversations could be detected just beneath the reverberating assault on our ears.  Occasionally a word reached me: "Seven pounds eleven ounces." Occasionally the sound roared even louder as if in indignant anguish at whatever probing attacks it was under. Eventually the screaming neared me. I saw a nurse lean over me smiling into my face as she brought the still wailing tightly wrapped bundle "of joy?" up beside my head to enable me to see. 

My eyes fell onto the pale colorless emitter of all sounds inhuman with his eyes squeezed tight and mouth opened wide, wrapped like a burrito in a white blue and pink blanket... and my heart melted.

I smiled, and softly said, "Hi!" 

Immediately a hush fell across the room. Silence filled the void that once screamed bloody murder. It had stopped. Two goo filled eyes opened and stared at this creature (me) whose voice he seemed to recognize. He no longer cried. He knew I was there for him.

And twenty years later, he still knows. Happy 20th birthday to my heart.