It was with mixed feelings that we found ourselves treading the familiar path back to Philadelphia after work on a Friday night. We were traveling home to attend the long awaited “baby shower of the south,” which had been in the works for quite some time. While we were excited to collect copious amounts of free stuff that we asked for specifically (er, I mean to see our friends and family), we were also preparing ourselves mentally to deal with the realities of a different matter entirely, the passing of Kim’s lone remaining grandparent. We arrived in Philly late that Friday night, and went to sleep shortly thereafter – I was exhausted from driving and Kim was exhausted from sleeping in the car.
We awoke Saturday morning to the chaos. Kim’s mother played an integral role in the planning and execution of the shower, and so of course we felt obligated to help where we could. Kim was up early, helping with food preparation and the like. I chipped in by sleeping late and staying out of the way (a skill I’ve perfected over the years). Eventually Kim’s mother disappeared off to set up everything, and Kim and I found some time to ourselves. I turned on the big Final Four lacrosse game (SU vs. Virginia) while Kim proceeded to gather data for her dream interpretation studies. Eventually the appointed time drew nigh, and we piled into the CR-V and headed off to receive all of our free stuff – er – attend our baby shower extravaganza.
It was a wonderful affair. It had been decided early on that we wanted to do this particular shower “Jack and Jill” style – which basically means that men and women (and children) are invited and that “pail fetching” games are the order of the day. Our shower was held at a township park near where we grew up, which offered us a pavilion, bathrooms, and easy access to grills for food and such. There were games set up – traditional baby shower games like “guess the number of candies in the baby bottle,” a “Price is right” affair using common baby items, and, for the older kids, “spin the baby.” Also available were a wide variety of athletic balls, hula hoops, a bean bag toss, and of course, skeet shooting and monkey wrestling.
We spent much of the shower just meeting with all of our friends, many of which we hadn’t seen in a long time. They all commented, much to Kim’s chagrin, how small her belly looked so late in the pregnancy. While normally a desirable quantity (“why, you are one fat pregnant tub o’ lard” usually doesn’t play well), with the recent questions regarding the baby’s size, it was not something she wanted to hear. We munched on all manner of tasty treats, some catered, some home made. My father dutifully manned the grill for hours, supplying the ravenous throngs with hot dogs and hamburgers, while others partook of one of those 6 foot subs. And of course there was cake, in this case of three different flavors, yellow, chocolate, and diaper (the latter, while super absorbent, was not edible).
Eventually, we moved into the classic baby shower denouement, the traditional “opening of the gifts,” with each unwrapped discovery greeted with oooohs and ahhhs from the women, and disinterested looks (and occasional yawns) from the men. With a volunteer scribe noting down each gift and it’s giver (for later thank you card dissemination), we slowly but surely made our way through the mountain of bags and boxes and finally, at long last, had in our possession some of the key items that we would undoubtedly use day after day when Chi-Baba finally made his/her appearance. We were awed by the generosity of everyone and had difficulty jamming all of the bounty into our car for the long trip home.
It was a great shower, and one that we’ll always remember. Many thanks to all those involved in planning it, especially Kim’s mother, Peg, and my sister Karin and sister in law Christine. Without their efforts, I’d probably have planned it, and while there would have been a lot more beer, there would also most likely have been a lot less guests and a lot more evil stares from my wife.
With the shower behind us, we traveled to the hospital to visit with my father-in-law’s father, who lay gravely ill. It was difficult to see him that way, clearly in pain and struggling for each breath. Over the course of Sunday and Monday we visited him twice, communicating with him as best we could. He needed an oxygen mask at all times which made his mouth very dry, and so it was very hard to understand what he was saying. We talked to him when we could, telling him about the baby and trying to maintain our composure. Finally, it was time for us to return to Syracuse, and we gave our tearful goodbyes, knowing that we would never see him again. He passed away just a few days later at the age of 89.
It was heart-rending experience. The juxtaposition of celebrating a new life while simultaneously watching another end is far too weighty a subject for this irreverent blog to attempt to articulate. Needless to say, it was a powerful and profound trip back to Philly, and one which we will long remember.
For me, at least, the last memory I will have of Bud’s Dad (as we called him) came at the hospital on our first visit. At one point, Kim’s mother asked him his opinion on the gender of our baby. He struggled to speak, and she pulled back the oxygen mask to expose his face. And then he fought his way through the pain and very clearly said “boy.” He seemed very sure of it – only time will tell if he was right. Regardless, I think, in my mind at least, his memory will always be linked with our coming baby, even though neither will meet in this world.
Rest in peace, Matthew Balch. You will be missed.
