I got back from Michigan late last night, worn out from a week of sitting in a hospital beside my ailing mother. Whether a sick child or a wife in labor or a mother who is suffering, there is little worse than helplessly watching someone you love in pain. And in the evenings I returned to my mother’s apartment, alone. I missed my wife and children tremendously, and I was overjoyed to be home.
William is one year old, and he is the best natured baby I have ever seen. When he was littler he smiled every time he looked at me, and he paid more attention to his daddy as a small baby than had any of the others.
But last night he just stared at me, like he was trying to place my face.
And I got thinking; for Will, a week is a very long time. Time is experienced in a relative way; to me six months is a little more than one one hundredth of my life, not so long at all. To Will, it is almost half his life. Anyone can remember how slowly time moved when they were young, and anyone can tell you that time seems to go faster and faster as you age.
So to Will, this week was experienced as being as long as a little over a year would seem to me. He warmed to me eventually, and today I could hardly put him down. I guess we just had to get reacquainted after what seemed like such a long time to the little guy.
My mother, by the way, is being released today from the hospital to a rehabilitation center, and we are trying to figure out an option to her living alone, which we doubt is still going to be possible. Your prayers are appreciated, as always.