I guess this is a blog for my baby. An unashamed post of motherly pride and joy.
The moment he was placed on my chest for the first time, naked and wet, small and vulnerable, all limbs and pink skin, dark hair, dark eyes, was as surreal as it was wonderful. My exhausted mind wrapping itself around the solid testament of the living, breathing soul that was now encircled by my arms. Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bones. The long-awaited arrival of our first-born son.
Freedom Alexander. Wednesday, February 12th, 2020, 10:08am, 8lb 14oz.
This week he turned one years old. A milestone marking the end of a year full of many others as he’s grown, changed, learned and adapted; as we have grown, changed, learned and adapted. It was both one of the hardest and most challenging years as a global pandemic raged right on the heels of his birth, and simultaneously one of the most wonderful as we poured out our hearts into this little being whose life has been entrusted into our hands.
Freedom has taught me the gift of wonder again, of the thrill and excitement of birthdays and Christmases, the irresistibleness of a good beat, the joy of discovery, the glee and delight found in new things and faces, in sounds and experiences. He has reminded me of the power of innocence in the face of anger and injustice, helping to calm the inner turmoil that at times has threatened to overtake me, as I’ve gazed into his beautiful, pure, trusting brown eyes. Oh, how God knew we would need this child now!
This past Friday, as we woke up our son with the happy birthday song, and hosted a morning Zoom party with our family all over the world, I marveled at how time had flown in this first year, all that still stretches before us, and what it may hold. Later that day, our little family of three headed out into D.C (where we are currently staying short-term while my husband works on a show here) to visit the Lincoln and MLK memorials. It just so happens that 160 years ago on this same date, Abraham Lincoln was born - not a bad guy to share a birthday with.
After the first couple of minutes riding in our Lyft and sharing the initial pleasantries with our friendly driver, we mentioned that today was Freedom’s first birthday. Our driver immediately began looking around the space in the front of his car, saying, “What can I give him? I don’t really have anything!” Then, even as these words were still coming from his mouth, his eyes rested on a small American flag which hung from his rear-view mirror. “This is for him! Happy Birthday!” He grabbed the flag and extended his arm behind him to pass it to Freedom. “Wow, thank you! Look Freedom, this is for you!” I said as I placed the little bronze plastic pole into his chubby hand. Immediately attached to his new play thing, Freedom began happily waving his American flag as the city limits of D.C sped by our car windows.
“I actually got that flag when I became a citizen a year ago,” our driver continued engaging us in conversation, apparently taken with our little trio. “Oh my goodness, are you sure you want to give this to him?!” I exclaimed, immediately humbled that this stranger should choose to give away something that I knew represented a greater story, struggle and victory. “Yes, please! He should have it!” came the quick response.
As our short journey continued, Shahid shared with us how he had emigrated from Pakistan and had finally received his citizenship when Covid hit. His wife and daughter however were still in Pakistan and he was waiting till he would be able to bring them over. My heart constricted with compassion as his story unfolded, yet again struck by the huge gift he had bestowed upon Freedom. That flag represented so much - hope and freedom, dreams for the future, the eventual reunion of his family and the long journey to reach it all.
The kindness, beauty and generosity of complete strangers never ceases to amaze me. As we parted ways at the foot of the Lincoln Memorial, I was struck by the significance of our short interaction, the gift of stories shared which we now carried, the wonder of humanity and its resilience, and the inheritance my son had received from it all.
Over the last couple of days I have been reminded of a verse in the Bible which describes the mother of Jesus mulling over events surrounding her son’s birth, words spoken over his life, gifts given to him. She ‘treasured all these things in her heart.’ Don’t worry, I haven’t deceived myself into thinking Freedom is the second coming - although I do think he’s the best thing since sliced bread - but I do store up these moments as treasure in my heart, pondering on the significance of them, wondering what they might reveal for who he will become. There is no great conclusion to this, but rather hope that one day he will be someone who passes on his greatest breakthrough and victory to another coming behind him, that their stories may find one another in their interlocking.
So, as in the lyrics of the song, The Story of Tonight, today I ‘raise a glass to Freedom’!
