It is the middle of the night, 3:07am, and my family sleeps. I just fed Noah, and he is now swaddled and laying in his snuggle nest. As he sleeps, I notice a smile on his face. I watch him and Max, peaceful and resting. Earlier tonight he was crying and fussy. Hungry for food on the hour, rather than every three. Max had him in the sling, dancing around the apartment, singing silly songs, as this seemed to be the only thing that calmed him. Clearly a growth spurt had hit, and these are always difficult to follow. It is unknown territory at the best of times, but when things change and he is still too little to communicate, it is challenging for the two of us to know how to help him. He finally passed out, and began to sleep. I took this queue and jumped into bed to rest. The beautiful rotating night light that Stephen Goldstine gave us, with jazz players is spinning dimly in the room, the white noise machine playing the loud sounds of rainfall. Things are strewn around the bedroom, and to an outsider it looks like mayhem. Even just a few months ago, to me it would look like mayhem. Now – it is just an adjustment of priorities. I walk into the kitchen and find it spotless. Max has washed all dishes, sterilized all bottles. Another day has come and gone where he took care of everything, allowing for me to focus solely on taking care of our son. This is a priceless gift. One of many that he gives to me, over and over again. The love, commitment and dedication that Max shares is oftentimes overwhelming, and I am washed over by this love. It is like a tidal wave, as it envelopes me, Noah, the bedroom, our apartment, our lives. So many times during the pregnancy, in classes; readings; conversations – it was insinuated that the husband does very little, that I would be left to my own devices, that I would not be able to count on him. Nothing could be farther from the truth. We have spent this first month with Noah enjoying the Babymoon to it’s fullest. For the most part we have been alone, one-on-one, getting to know each other. No family visiting for the first month or more, we have just tried to be together as a threesome, without argument despite exhaustion. This love fills me in a way that cannot really be described. I could try by saying that it wells up in my chest and causes an ache. I want to hold them and kiss them, but I don’t because I want them to sleep. And so, instead I lay and watch them. And say thank you in my head for this incredible gift. I say thank you for my family.
I received an email that read, “Virginia Rose Kleker. 6.17.77 – 10.08.08. Ginny’s Memorial Service: Monday (Oct. 13) 11am” and I genuinely thought it was a project she was doing, as suicide had been a subject she made work about before. But I was heartbroken to find out that this was true and very real.
My friend Ginny killed herself on October 8th. And it breaks my fucking heart.
The last time I saw her was in June at a recording studio, where I spent the day with Ginny and her fiance John. She seemed happy. I now know she was far from happy.
After the memorial service last week, I lay in bed and wept. I could not stop thinking about what she must have felt in the final moment before she hung herself. Did she feel relief? Did she feel fear? Was she sad or finally experiencing peace? This is what haunts me.
I think about all the wonderful days I spent with her in graduate school. The work we made together that I will forever cherish. Most notably the one hour hug performance we did in the subway. I once told her that she was the kiwi and I was the egg. The kiwi has a rough exterior, but inside it is sweet and has a real bite. The egg has an exterior that seems hard, but is quite fragile, and inside it is very soft. I once walked into my studio to find a golden egg made out of wood. Of course, I just knew this was something Ginny had left for me.
I am all apologies right now. In the should-could-would have phase of the grief. I wish we’d spent more time together before Noah arrived.
My heart aches and misses the kiwi now, forever and always.
The last time I saw her.
About two and a half weeks ago I watched About A Son, a documentary-esque film about Kurt Cobain. It consists of audio interviews between Cobain and a journalist Michael Azerrad, and these excerpts are played against gorgeous footage of the places he lived. The film felt more like a dream, an art piece, a beautiful portrait of someone. I enjoyed it more than I have many films this year, and finished it feeling both sad and peaceful. This was clearly a man who had a difficult childhood, with parents who seriously fucked him up. And I thought about this a lot after watching the film, knowing we have a child on the way. That unconditional love and acceptance are key in developing a person who feels safe, secure and cared for. That these are the things I would provide and uphold above all else.
A few days later, my water broke two weeks before my due date. Just 38 hours later, Noah was born on September 22nd. Not knowing the baby’s sex prior to the birth, it was a real mystery all the way up until the doctor announced, ‘It’s a boy’ and handed him to me. What an incredible feeling. What an incredible birth experience. If I ever thought I knew and loved Max before, going through the birth showed me a love and connection I will never be able to put into words. I am truly blessed to have this man in my life.
I spent 38 weeks creating life in my belly, pushing him out into this world, and beginning a new story About A Son. I want to care for him in such a way that the narrative we weave together will be one he’ll speak of fondly as a man.
He will forever be loved.
Welcome to our world precious Noah Maverick.
Daily | 
October 26, 2008 10:03 am | 
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