The First Goodbye

The early-morning sun hinted at the edge of the mountain, then danced through the lone sprawling oak in the yard. A tire swing swayed on long twisted vines as the whippoorwill’s trill sang out. But there was no response to its forlorn call.

Paul paced the living room he grew up in. He glanced at the dent in the fireplace mantel where his brother sanded the mark and scratch left by a wayward arrow. Barely visible, the indentation had made for many jokes and exaggerated stories over the years. Now pacing the room, Paul’s feet recalled the spots on the floor to avoid so he didn’t wake his wife.

With shaking hands, he reached toward the crib but yanked back. His lungs fought to fill. His backward steps drew him to the window where he placed his palm against the soon-to-warm glass and leaned his head on the pane.

“God help me. What if I break him? What if I wreck his life?” A gasp stuttered the next word. “Wh … wh …what if he never knows …” The rest of the murmured sentence fogged the window. He pushed back, then tiptoed around the room again.

The blanket-wrapped baby stretched against his constraints. He cooed and yawned before he settled in his safe cocoon. No concerns awaited him since he had no understanding of what the day would bring. Lucky boy.

Paul hesitated, wrestled in a staggered breath, and stepped forward. Beside the crib his father crafted for him when he made his own entry into life, he knelt. He touched his own little one’s cheeks, then his nose, chin, ears, forehead, and finally the velvety-soft covering on his round head. Tears dripped from Paul’s clean-shaven face.

“You can pick him up, you know?” Katie whispered from the recliner by the fireplace. The logs crackled and spit sparks as more warmth released into the room.

Though he didn’t lift his focus from his firstborn, he answered, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

The new mom sniffed. “You didn’t. I’ve been watching you pace for a while. I wouldn’t have missed these moments. Sleep can come after.”

Paul lifted his gaze and the spouses stared intently for several seconds. Knowing hung between them. Their expressions serious but tender.

“Are you feeling all right? Do you need anything? Did you leave the hospital too soon?” The words flooded from Paul. He came to his wife, knelt, and kissed her soundly, then wrapped the covers around her.

“I’m fine … really. Go ahead and pick him up. Support his neck when you lift him.”

Paul looked over his shoulder. He glanced between the still bundle and Katie. “I don’t know how. I’ve never been around babies before.”

“Just lift him up with your arm under his back and put your thumb and forefinger at his neck.”

“I can’t. I might drop him.”

Katie pushed the foot of the recliner back into place, scooted to the edge of the chair, and stood. She reached out. Paul raised up, then wrapped his arm around her. Together, they moved to the wooden bassinet. As if she’d done it a thousand times, she scooped up their son, turned, and placed him in her husband’s arms.

Paul raised his eyebrows and held his breath. “I want to remember every minute … every detail. He’ll grow so much while …” Pride and heartache fought for attention. “We did this … you and me, Katie. He’s perfect.” Paul took slow steps to the sliding glass door.

 

He swiped his cheek against his shoulder, then bent slightly, and touched his forehead to little Ryder’s. He pulled back to look at his son. “Someday, I want to teach you how to ride a horse, hunt, fish, and—” he fought to swallow the growing lump in his throat.

His shoulders lowered under reality’s weight, then he stood straight and looked at his wife.

Katie dabbed her face with a tissue and smiled. “It really will be all right. I’ve been praying, and I have peace.”

“I know. I can see it in your eyes.”

He held his attention on her grasping a lifeline. His soul hung onto the scene and engraved it into his memory. The new scent of baby powder. The bird’s call outside welcoming the sun. Light seeping through the cracks in the yet-to-be-raised blinds on several windows as the dawn chased the night away. The fragrance of Katie’s shampoo. All of it sifted into his heart and he buried every part deep inside.

“Ryder, I’ll show you how to take care of those you love. Like my dad taught me, and his dad taught him, you’ll learn how to love God.” He looked down at their son and blinked repeatedly. “Katie, what if I don’t—”

“No, Paul, no what-ifs. We knew this would be difficult, but it’s the way it has to be. We made the decision for you to go back without knowing Ryder was coming.”

“I know, I know. I just didn’t think it would be so hard. He’s so little. By the time—”

Katie laid her right palm against her husband’s lips and her left hand on her son’s head. “God, You see us and know what’s ahead.” She sucked in a breath and sniffed before continuing. “You promised strength for days like today. We need that now. We need Your help. Please.” The last word faded through loud swallows.

Paul slid Katie’s hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. He wiped her cheek with his thumb. “If I had known then …”

Katie smiled and touched the insignia on her husband’s shirt. “God knew. He’s got us all.”

A knock at the door collided with the tender moment. Paul kissed his son one more time, then handed him to Katie. With trembling fingers, he touched the crown of Ryder’s head again and wraps his arms around both of them.

“I promise … I’ll be back.” He pressed his lips against his wife’s embedding the moment in his mind.

The hollow ring of the doorbell echoed in the entry. Paul released his family as he stepped away.

“God’s got us all.”

Paul watched tears flow freely over his wife’s face.

He nods, sets the garrison cap on his head, picks up his gear bag, and opens the door.

“Ready Lieutenant?”

Paul looked around the scene one more time and memorized the picture at Katie and Ryder. “Yes, sir, Major, sir.” He handed over his duffel bag and gulped down a sob. “Take care of them, Dad.”

“Your mom and I will. They’re in God’s care just as you are.”

With one more look back Paul stepped through the door and pulled it closed.