It’s Wednesday morning, February 12th, and I’m at the hospital in the labor and delivery waiting room. The bitter cold outside contrasts with the blue sky and gorgeous, snow-capped mountains of Colorado visible through the large windows in the waiting room.
Palmer’s last text mentioned Anabelle was about to start pushing. Now, uncertainty fills the air. Has the baby already arrived? Will it be hours until he’s born? Have complications arisen? Are they already experiencing the bliss of welcoming their beloved child? There’s no way to know. I. Just. Have. To. Wait.
Though generally patient, excitement, hope, and worry make me restless. I check my phone for texts and emails, then stare at the mountains, only to reach for my phone again and scroll mindlessly. Time crawls.
Then it dawns on me—scrolling isn’t how I want to spend this sacred time when my grandson is entering the world and taking his first breath. Even without knowing what’s happening in the delivery room, I can be fully present. I put on headphones and turn on music that calms and inspires.
I get distracted when my mind briefly returns to when Palmer was sixteen and despised me, declaring I’d never meet my grandchildren when he grew up. Yet here I am, eleven years later, sitting on the other side of the wall where he’s helping his beloved wife deliver their first child. I marvel at the unpredictable journey of relationships and life, grateful to be in this present moment rather than that painful past.
I bring myself back to the music – within moments, my body softens as I sink into the chair. My heart fills with love and gratitude for being here now. I surrender to not knowing, I send love to Palmer, Anabelle, and sweet baby James, whatever they’re experiencing. Joy, relaxation, and excitement replace my anxiety as time begins to flow naturally.
Having set aside my phone, closing my eyes, and entering a space of prayer and presence during the wait proves deeply rewarding. I can tell that when I finally enter the delivery room, my energy is going to be calmer. I will be less amped up; more peaceful and present. I’m going to feel the joy more fully. Until my dying day, I will remember how much more meaningful this time became when I chose mindfulness over distraction.
How many times, I wonder, do we complicate our relationships by bringing nervous, intense energy to a situation? If I could time travel, I’d send the current version of me back to gently shake younger me, telling her that mindfulness matters. Our state of being communicates. Those few minutes of pausing to go inside and feel ALL her feelings, including her love for those challenging children and grace for herself might have gone a long way towards bringing more calm and grace to her parenting.
Finally, I’m jarred back to the waiting room when the text from Palmer finally arrives: “You can come back to room 5127.” I finally get to meet Sweet Baby James! I get to see Palmer and Anabelle and hear about his birth! Gathering my things, I walk with a full, happy heart and a spring in my step to meet this new little boy, the son of my son, who I already know I’ll love beyond measure.
Have a wonderful day as fully alive as you can muster!
