Maria's Message

As I recall it, we were at a graduation party for my niece July 17, 2004 when I retrieved the cell phone message from my excited daughter:

“I just wanted to tell you my water broke and we’re going to the hospital.

“I don’t know what will happen, but we’re going there.”

In the background, I could hear Jason, my son-in-law, saying in his calm voice “Yeah, Chris’ water broke so we’re . . .”

Chris continued, “I don’t know what they’ll do, but we’re going to the hospital.”

“I’m going to call Ben, and see if I can get a message to him.

“Oh, yeah, I don’t remember if I told you, but my water broke, so we’re going to the hospital.

“Love you. Bye.”

I didn’t check for the cell message until after Ben answered his cell, and allowed Cecilia and I to talk to Chris. She was excited, a new mother on her way to meet her first child.

After Ben had alerted me, I checked my cell, and saved the message I’d missed.

It marked the start of an adventure for our daughter and her husband which she had started for Cecilia and me more than 29 years before that call.

It was early the next morning when Jason called to say our first grandchild, Maria Christina, had arrived in Grand Rapids.

When he called, I remembered Cecilia trying to stint the flow of water marking that her first pregnancy was ending, precipitating the journey to the hospital, and the eventual arrival of little Christina in a crib the nurse allowed me to view, but not touch, many hours later.

My first call was to my mother. The next was to Cecilia's.

Christina and Jason were going through that at the same time I was reviewing, and saving, the cell phone message she had left because I didn't answer.

There was a nexus associated with Maria’s birth beyond the continuation of what Cecilia and I started those 29 years ago.

Our niece was not only celebrating her graduation, but the eve of her 18th birthday . . . a birthday she gladly shared with her second cousin, the first in the family, my little granddaughter Maria.

I can’t count the number of times I’d reviewed that saved message, being careful each time to save it again for the 21-days my cell provider allowed.

Each time I listened, it meant much to me as a father and grandfather, because it marked the positive progression of Cecilia’s and my family.

Then, on Maria’s birthday in 2011 – an important one because it denoted an occasion when her friends were allowed to stay overnight at her house for a special sleepover – I checked for another message.

As was my habit, I started to wait for the stored message from 2004 to play before I got the new message.

But, being impatient, and almost knowing what it said, I figured that I could speed the time to get my new message by re-saving Maria’s for later by pressing “7.” Unfortunately, “save” was number 9, and erase was number “7.”

In my impatience, I’d guessed wrong.

Maria had just turned seven the day I lost the message announcing her arrival.

At first, it was sad, because I wanted to recall when my daughter and her husband were going to be new parents, and my wife and I could share in the excitement of a new member in the family.

But, then, Maria is beyond being a “new” member in the family, and regardless of whether the birth marked a transition for Cecilia and I, it had passed.

In the seven years since I’d saved that message, Maria, in her own way, had instructed me on what was important in life, be it her concerns, or the concerns for her welfare that she inspired as she matured.

And, though recalling that her arrival had provided some nostalgic memories, the fact the message announced she might arrive isn’t as important as the fact that she had arrived. She is in need of the same nurturing and counseling I offered Chris before she moved from the house, married, and started a family of her own, only from the perspective of a grandfather as opposed to a father.

The memory of that responsibility is important, but not as important as exercising it in Maria’s behalf.

So, instead of listening to history, it has become happy birthday.

Maria; here’s hoping there are many more for you to share with Grandma, Chris, Jason, Ben, Aunt Kara, your brothers, and me.