Thursday, August 5, 2010
A year ago today...
August 5th is a hard day for my husband. Eight years ago today, he lost his father to cancer. He was only 16 years old. Every year on this day, he gets really quiet and uncommunicative and melancholy, and I often feel confused because I don't notice the day. When I see a calendar, I understand. The funny thing is that in August of 2002, I was getting kicked out of boarding school. I know it doesn't compare really, but it's interesting to think that even though we didn't know each other, we were both going through the hardest time of our lives.
Last year, on August 5th, nothing particular was going on. John was working and I wasn't yet, so I didn't really have much to do. When he came home from work, he said, "Hey, you should test and see if you're pregnant!" (I had bought the tests a week before, "just in case.")
"Nah," I said, "I'm probably not pregnant, it's too soon to test, and there's no reason to think I might be pregnant."
He sighed. "Okay," he said, and went on with what he was doing. He looked melancholy.
Then I realized what day it was. So I decided he could have his way.
Five minutes later, I walked into the living room in some agitation, trying to keep from letting on. "It's supposed to sit for five minutes, but you can go in and look at it now if you want." I had already looked at it, but didn't want to "jump to conclusions" since I hadn't waited for the five minutes yet.
John gave me a funny look, probably because my face was switching back and forth between chalky white and scarlet red. But he got up, went into the bathroom, and looked at the test on the counter. Then he came back and started hugging me. We were going to have a baby.
"If it's a boy, we should name him Mark because of your dad," I said. (We had already decided on this a long time before, that the first boy would be named Mark.)
"Well, we don't know it will be a boy," John said.
"It will," I said. "It's too poetic and perfect for it not to be a boy."
It was a boy, and I love him so much.
Mark Sr., I wish I could have known you. May you rest in peace. Mark Jr., I hope you grow up like your namesake, strong in your faith and your character.