2005 Journal Entries

If you’ve been viewing the photographs on our site, you know that Archie isn’t a baby anymore. Of course I know this, too, but sometimes the realization washes over me anew as if I was thinking it for the first time all over again.

I watched Archie a few hours ago as he took his sippy cup and sat down in his little red chair. The television was tuned to the evening news and Archie was staring at the images on the screen. He looked exactly like a little boy should look. “My God,” I whispered, shaking my head. “When did he grow up? I swear he was just a baby.”

Archie also sounds like a little boy. All of a sudden he can speak. Little words; mostly nouns, but he also uses simple verbs and adjectives. He sings along with songs he knows and that truly tickles me. All of his words aren’t clearly pronounced, and some I haven’t yet been able to decipher, but he is experimenting with language and it very exciting to watch.

Archie touches his face or mouth in specific places when he utters certain words. This is something his speech therapist does with him to help Archie feel the sounds of letters, and it’s a technique he uses correctly on his own. If Archie doesn’t like the way a word he says sounds, he’ll repeat it until it’s correct, moving his hand around until he utters the noise he’s looking for. Best of all, though, is when he works with his sister and brother, teaching them to speak.

First, he’ll sign “father” on their foreheads and say “Dada.” Then, he’ll sign “mother” on their chins and say, “Mama.” The babies stare at him transfixed through all of this, rapt pupils both of them, and Archie usually laughs before he sticks his fingers on their throats and says, “Aaahhhcheee!” He’s an earnest teacher, a thoughtful one, and it makes me so proud to watch him in his roll as big brother.

Kit and Jack Sharkey are growing, too. Last Sunday morning they ate pancakes and sausage from McDonald’s for breakfast. I clapped my hands and cheered them on. “John, this may be one of the happiest moments of my life!” I squealed with excitement.

I have to admit that until last weekend I didn’t know ten-month old babies were capable of eating pancakes and sausage. When Archie was a ten-month old, his adjusted age was seven-months, with three months subtracted due to his tenuous start to life. Of course, though, he probably looked more like a four or five-month old, since he was so small after all. Where he was developmentally then I have no idea, but I certainly didn’t know what to feed him, or what a ten-month old should have been eating. I was thrilled if he finished a bottle, or managed to choke down an entire jar of baby food.

If you’re the mother of a baby who has struggled with feeding you know exactly what I mean. You understand how excited I am that my babies can eat a pancake from a fast food restaurant, picking up the bite-sized pieces I cut with their fingers. If not, you may be nodding your head in agreement, thinking you can empathize, but you don’t really understand. You can’t and you never really will.

Two weeks ago tonight John’s father passed away. He was seventy-six years old, the father of one daughter and five sons, one step-son, and grandfather to seventeen grandchildren. He was diagnosed with cancer only a month ago, and although we knew his disease was terminal, his death still seemed to come so quickly. John’s father lived in Charleston so we didn’t get to see him often, but he always called to check on his grandchildren. If you knew Bill, or Dr. Moore as so many people called him, you won’t mind me saying that he was a cantankerous old man. But he always came when we invited him, and I know we’ll miss him, sitting in the corner and passing judgment, not with malicious intent, but only because that’s the best way he knew how to express his love.

One week ago tonight my brother and his wife welcomed their first child, a boy they named Hayes. They’re excited, and we are, too. We haven’t met the baby yet, but we like the looks of him in the photographs we’ve seen. In a few months he’ll be on the floor playing with our children, in the thick of it.

That’s how life works, I guess. One life is over as another begins. Our everyday activities fall in between somewhere. Another year passes and babies grow up, all of us getting older, fulfilling our fates. Archie was sick, then well, and then he was sick again. Now he’s well, better than ever, and we hope he stays that way. For us the last three years have been measured in those terms. But each day we move farther away from that reality. Today we are moving past that and we’re glad of it. There is so much life left to live.