His simple answer rang true: Why not me? "The universe is anarchic and doesn't care about us," he said, "and unfortunately, there's no greater rhyme or reason as to why it would be me. And since there is no answer as to why me, it's not a question I feel really entitled to ask."
While Asher was in NICU, responding to my own pitiable mind with "Why not me?" really helped. I saw that believing the world was treating me unfairly required also believing that someone else deserved such treatment more than me. Inserting that one word - "not" - shook me out of my state and allowed me to carry on, to be present in those moments. It's a trick I've since suggested to clients and discussed with friends. Recently, I really hoped it would help one friend in particular.
This friend's baby girl was born under somewhat similar circumstances to Asher. She received the cooling mat treatment, and when I had the honor of meeting her, she reminded me of my son in those early days. Seeing her gave me hope, and I tried to pass that feeling on to those friends. I also tried to pass on some of what I'd learned to the new parents, including how I re-framed my own self-pity.
Last week, this baby girl passed away. Her parents' pain morphed from something I could relate to into a mere concept, one beyond my ability to understand, let alone write about here.
Among the waves of my internal responses came a return of my mind's attempts to apply fairness and order to the universe. Only, this time, the question had changed into something I've found far more impenetrable: "Why them, not me?"
Logically, I think the resolution to this second question is contained somewhere in the resolution to the first. Yet, as I'm feeling so sad for them, that answer is far from satisfying. It feels small and cold, and while my head still believes it to be true and thinks it can help sometimes, my heart regrets even suggesting it to a friend who's now mourning.
*****
Further complicating the nest of emotions surrounding the past few weeks is how well Asher is doing. After we got the news about our friends' daughter, Marissa and I sat quietly in our living room. Asher was between us, lying back-down on his play mat. Processing the tragedy, I was staring off into nothing when I saw a twist of movement in the corner of my eye. Asher was now on his stomach. An important developmental milestone, rolling had been a physical therapy goal of his for a while, and he had just done it on his own for the first time. Marissa and I looked at each other, shocked, before the bittersweet irony of the moment set in.
We've gotten great encouragement from his physical therapist, who's seemed very impressed with most everything she sees. Rolling is easier from stomach to back, happening twice today in quick succession, though back-to-stomach has only happened a few times. He holds his head up pretty well, even if he has his drunken bobblehead moments. Some of these things may not be exactly on time or done perfectly, but if you put him in a line-up with other four-month old babies, you'd be hard pressed to pick out the one with the traumatic start to life.
And, of course, he's as cute as a baby's ever been.
Last week, Grammy and Pappy White came for a week-long visit...
He laughs a lot, especially when we play and sing our songs, but he's also starting to laugh on his own at things he thinks are funny.
Hopefully I'm not being naive, but the way Asher takes in and reacts to the world makes me really optimistic that he'll be just fine intellectually. Quick smiles at songs we sing regularly show me he remembers them. He can figure out how to do something, such as work a toy or how to roll over, then quickly repeat what he's just learned to do. Mostly, though, there's just a look in his eye, an alertness that says he's soaking in and learning from his environment. Even if he is just a little behind physically, my fear of not being able to have an intellectual relationship with my son seems like a distant memory.
I'll finish up this post with something Asher might hate me for when he gets to a certain age. We have a nightly routine that starts with a bath, which has become daddy time. Splashing might be his favorite thing in the world to do, and as you can see, he's very good at it. Maybe we're training the next Michael Phelps.
To Future Asher (and his girlfriends I'll be showing this to in 16 years or so): I wish YouTube would let me add one of those blue dots over your privates. But only because I think that'd be even funnier.
