Eighteen years ago today my wife and I were scared beyond belief. We were about to deliver a 26-week preemie (after stalling for two weeks in the hospital, trying to help tiny lungs to mature). Our pediatrician, a dear personal friend who had helped us through an earlier loss, gently walked us through the low-survival-rate expectations, followed by the high likelihood of significant quality-of-life issues ever after.
Tomorrow my son Sam turns eighteen, bright, fun, and athletic: "you're only small on the outside" is a motto he has lived up to all the way. We're celebrating with a road-trip to my old college to watch a lacrosse scrimmage, combining his star high-school sport with his first out-of-state drive using his brand-new permanent driver's license. He'll probably make fun of me for being distracted and sentimental.
We've lost some, we've won some. Does it get any better than this? -- Paul
He joyously felt himself idling, an unreflective mood in which water was water, sky was sky, breeze was breeze. He knew it couldn't last. -- Thomas McGuane, "Nothing but Blue Skies"
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