It was first thing in the morning. I had a good sleep. The sun was shining through our bedroom window. I felt the weight of our mattress shift and then release and knew that my wife had gotten up and headed for the bathroom.
I laid there on my side, eyes open, pulse raised. I tried to talk myself down. It’s probably negative, I said. No need to get excited, I thought to myself. We’re probably not ready anyways, I tried to comfort myself.
She finally came back from the bathroom. I felt the weight of the bed shift again and knew she was laying up against our headboard leaning over me. “So,” she whispered. “Do you want me to tell you or do you want to see for yourself.”
“It’s negative, isn’t it?” I asked. Hope for the best, prepared for the worse.
“It’s positive,” she said with a smile.
I rolled over, “Really?” She grinned and showed me the test. Emotions flooded my tear ducts. “We’re having a baby,” I said. I’m going to be a dad.
A dad. Wow. What an honour. What a responsibility. It’s like I told a friend, I’m super excited and more than a little bit terrified.
And I can’t wait.
That was back in September. The baby is due in May. I’m writing this post today because on this day four years ago the dad who raised me, my dad, passed away. He was too young. Only forty-nine.
Seldom an occasion passes by when I don’t think about him. I painfully miss him. And I hope that pain never goes away. That I never stop missing him. Most of all I wish he were here to see his grandchild come into this world.
Uh oh, here comes that knot in the throat…