Life Tips for a One-Month-Old

“If there’s a NICU rocker in the house, can you come to Bay 3?” I heard on the hospital intercom. The baby girl I was rocking was asleep in my arms, so I returned her to her bed and answered the call.

When I walked into Bay 3, I saw the familiar, relieved smile of a tired nurse who desperately needed help with a fussy boy so that she could finish charting before her shift ended.

She was about to go home.

And when I saw a car seat sitting on the floor near his bed, I knew Fussy Boy would be going home soon, too.

“He’s doing really well,” the nurse said. “REALLY well. We’re so happy he turned a corner.”

I settled into my rocker with a pillow to cradle my elbow. When she handed him to me, Fussy Boy was warm. Baby warm. I don’t know what the exact temperature is of Baby Warm, but if you hold enough babies, you quickly discover that they have a special warmth: A physical feeling, but more notably a spiritual warmth that melts your heart.

Soon the nurse was off to her computer station, typing away to update her patients’ charts for the next shift. And Fussy Boy, although wonderfully warm, was uncomfortable. Irritable. Fidgety.

So we worked on the first thing that usually calms restless souls: body position. Rocker protocol is to always start with a flat cradle, making sure the baby’s chin is tilted upward enough for good airflow through the throat. So I cradled him flat. He fussed. I moved the pillow to raise his upper body. He whimpered. And then I hit the sweet spot (every baby seems to have one): I held him upright against my chest, patted him gently on his bum, and began humming a slow “Love Will Keep Us Together.”

He couldn’t hear my hums for his crying, but I kept humming anyway. My experience is that at some point, the baby takes a breath, and can hear other things going on besides his own cries. He hears a soothing hum, a vibration from my chest to his, and then his cries slowly lessen.

So I kept humming, patting, and rocking. After that song was over, I moved on to “Muskrat Love.” And when that song was over, he had become quiet. I could tell by the pace of his breathing (and the monitor) that he was falling to sleep.

I was quiet for a long while, enjoying listening to him breathe. I noticed that he had a big 1 on the side of his bed. He was one month old already!

Since I knew he’d be going home soon, I suddenly felt compelled to give him some advice. So I just started talking.

“A lot of what I’m about to tell you is from a book I wrote, which you may never read, so I’m going to give you the CliffsNotes version.

“1. Always respect your parents. At first, you’re going to love your parents. They’ll do everything for you: feed you, clean you, play with you. Then when you get older, they’ll teach you things, take you to the park, and tell you what to do. You may not want to do what they tell you to do. In fact, you’ll probably get really mad at them at times. It’s O.K. to be angry at someone you love. But be respectful. They’ll be mad at you some day, too, but that doesn’t mean they don’t love you. No matter how mad you get, even if you’re right about something even though they say you’re wrong, show respect. I’m saying a prayer for you right now that you have a good, strong, loving relationship with your parents. I didn’t have that. It was hard for me. And I don’t want that for you.

“2. Always say hello to your mom and dad when they come home from a long day at work. Until you’re old enough to take care of yourself—pay for your own food, shelter, transportation—they’re going to work hard to provide for you. They may have had the most absolutely horrible day, and you saying hello and being present might just be the love they need at that very moment.

“3. Never lie. Unless your life is in danger. Seriously, just don’t. It’ll get you in so much trouble and cause pain for you and those around you. It’s so hard to remember a lie, anyway, but you always know the truth, so just stick to that. Now, when you’re older, if you decide that you like to write stories, then it’s O.K. to write fantasy books (hint, hint). But, dude, just don’t lie. Life’s so much easier that way.”

Fussy Baby became fussy again, but he was well on his way to a good nap, so I switched to cradling him in my left arm.

“Do you have siblings?” I asked. “Well, No. 4 is a real challenge. Always try to have a good relationship with your siblings.”

He made a sour face.

“Oh, so you already know what I mean?” I chuckled.

“Yeah, this is a hard one. It’s hard for me, and, boy, I’ve made some mistakes. But your siblings are training-wheel relationships—practice for how to communicate, collaborate, and cooperate with others. You’ll build puzzles together and maybe have sword fights in the back yard. And you may tell them your fears and dreams. Then sometimes they’ll be annoying. So try to be patient.

“5. Eat your fruits and vegetables. When you get old enough to chew and digest real food, you’re going to LOVE to eat. And there’s some really tasty food out there. But don’t forget to eat stuff like broccoli, spinach, apples, bananas, oranges, cauliflower. This stuff is really good for your body, and will help you grow and stay healthy. Your parents may want you to try certain foods. Don’t be stubborn. Try it. You might like it!

“6. Speak up for yourself. Tell others when they’ve done or said something that hurts. If they love you, they’ll hear you, apologize, and not repeat the behavior. If they ignore your words, you might want to walk away. And make sure you apologize when you've done the same. Never be afraid to own up to your mistakes.

“7. Trust your instincts. And if adults tell you to keep a secret, just between you and them, that’s a sign that you DEFINITELY need to tell someone. Go to someone you trust and tell. You won’t get in trouble.

“8. Don’t do drugs. Just don’t. Trust me on this, nothing good comes from it. I did it. O.K.? Full disclosure here, I drank a lot and experimented with drugs, and it didn’t turn out well. Now I’m better, but I wasted a lot of Earth time with chemicals. I know that when you get older, your school friends are going to want you to try drugs and alcohol. So if you don’t mind, I’m going to plant a little seed here. You ready? ‘I don’t like drugs and alcohol. I don’t like drugs and alcohol. I don’t like drugs and alcohol.’ If you stay away from that stuff, you’ll bypass a lot of pain.”

Fussy Boy was no longer fussy; he was now snoozing a soft, nasally hum. The monitors indicated that he was in a deep sleep when the new shift’s nurse came over to check on us.

“I see a car seat on the floor over there,” I said. “I know what that means!”

“That’s right,” she smiled. “He’s about to go home!”

“Did you hear that?” I asked No-Longer-Fussy Boy, though he was fast asleep. “You’re about to go home, where there won’t be so many noises, lights, beeping monitors, and round-the-clock assessments. You’re going to love home. You’ll get so many more cuddles from your parents.”

No-Longer-Fussy Boy smiled. Or burped, depending on your interpretation. I slowly rose from my rocker, placed him gently into his bed, and tucked the baby blue polar bear blanket under his body.

“Have a great life,” I said as I left. “We’re so glad you’re here.”

A Prayer Letter to a Teen in Pain

Second in a series

The letter below was written to a suicidal teen who's been going through a tough time after a breakup. The name has been changed to protect his identity.

Dear Kyle,

You probably don’t remember me, but I’ve been on the outer circle of your life from the beginning. (I visited you the day you were born, attended your bris, watched a few college football games with you and your mom and dad when you were a toddler, and have kept up with your soccer feats through your mom’s Facebook posts.)

I know you’ve been struggling. I’m sending you massive healing chi and prayers, but sometimes the best prayer is the one in which people share something hard that they’ve gone through in the past in hopes that it might comfort someone else today. You’re my “someone else.” So here goes:

When I was your age, books and academics were my friends. Socially, I was pimple-faced and awkward, scared to become vulnerable enough to have a relationship with anyone. I stayed single for the first half of my life because I was so afraid to open my heart and get it crushed. I was 22 when I had my first relationship. It lasted three months, and after it ended, I plummeted into a deep depression. I slowly regained my footing, but it took seven years for me to gather enough courage to have another relationship. That one lasted a whopping eight months, and it was after that breakup that I hit an emotional and spiritual bottom. (This turned out to be a good thing.)

I was depressed. I cried constantly. I felt like throwing up and fainting several times a day. The grief was overwhelming—almost too much to bear. I lost my job because I couldn’t function. I was sleeping on a friend’s couch because I didn’t have a place to live anymore now that I moved out of my girlfriend’s house. (She wanted to still be friends. But I was in too much pain. I couldn’t be around her.)

One day I was sitting on the edge of my friend’s couch, and I was crying so hard that snot was dribbling down my blouse. I didn’t care. I thought I was going crazy, telling her, “I think I need to go to a hospital.” Before she could respond, the phone rang. And I sat on the couch and cried some more. Then I had a moment of clarity, and I prayed.
 

“God, if I’m going to go crazy, let’s get it over with, because I can’t do this anymore.”
 

You see, I was afraid that if I felt the depth of my pain, that if I LET GO, that I would either go crazy or die, or go crazy and then die because of all the strain crying put on my heart. In the moment, either one was better than keeping the pain inside me. I had finally reached the point of letting go. I was willing to cry myself into insanity, and you know what? I didn’t go crazy. I didn’t die.

My friend interrupted my tears: “It’s for you,” she said, handing me the phone. “Some doctor."

I picked up the telephone and discovered that in a grief haze, I had called a counselor the day before for an appointment.

“It sounds like you’re having a rough time today,” the counselor said. “How’s 3:30?”

I don’t remember calling the counselor, but spiritually, her call for me that day was perfectly timed. I went to that appointment, even though I couldn’t afford to pay, and she allowed me to continue therapy for a few more sessions until I could get on antidepressants that worked for me and get back on my feet. I don’t remember her name, and I don’t even know if she was real. It doesn’t matter. She’ll always be an angel to me.

That was the absolute lowest point of my life, and Life waited until I was in my early 30s to hand me this lesson and this amount of pain to overcome. You’re just 16. So I can only imagine how hard and scary and overwhelming all the pain is for you right now.

Here’s what changed: I had loving people in my life who helped me see my value. Hilda C. was one of them. She challenged me to take myself out to restaurants and NOT bring a book—to just sit there with ME. To practice having a relationship with ME. I gotta admit: This was incredibly uncomfortable. But she helped me see that at the core, there were some things that I didn’t like about myself. Once those realizations surfaced, she helped me work through those things—to find peace with the things I didn’t like by working little by little to change those things. More over, she helped me recognize the things that I LOVE about myself. And today, after many years of practice, I LOVE me in a lot of ways. I even cherish my alone time. I’ve gone to movies, lunches, concerts, and even vacations alone. I decided that I was worthy of love, and that I wasn’t going to wait around for a partner to start living my life and having adventures.

I spent three more years alone, and in that time, I focused on getting my chemistry stabilized. (I still take antidepressants because depression runs in my family; it’s hereditary and it’s not my fault.) I focused my energy on doing things that I loved: martial arts, writing, reading, and service work. I practiced vulnerability with friends who were much safer and less scary than a romantic love interest.

Today I’m happily married to a woman named Marianna. She’s been my partner for almost 20 years. I couldn’t even put together 20 months in a relationship before her. And today I can say that I’m so incredibly grateful that THOSE OTHER RELATIONSHIPS DIDN’T WORK OUT. I had no idea what was waiting for me. When I was in my grief, I felt so lonely and alone. I didn’t think anyone would understand my pain, so I didn’t talk about it. All I could see was what I wanted and couldn’t have, and I didn’t think anyone else would want me.

I was so wrong.

The Universe has a wicked sense of humor. All those failures in relationships weren’t failures at all. They were lessons I needed to learn that would make it possible for me to be with someone like Mare, who was working on her issues, too.

 

Thank goodness for Hilda and my current mentor, Catheran. They taught me how to build higher self-esteem. They taught me that I was a wonderful person all by myself. They taught me how to love myself and treasure my gifts. They taught me that life can be good with or without a girlfriend or boyfriend.

This is such a hard time for you. I feel your pain. Truly I do. I also know that if I would have hung on to my pain, it would have killed me. I had to let go—as scary as it was to do. I had to believe that there was something better out there for me—something worth living and fighting for: ME.

If you can, Kyle, I urge you to let go, but don’t give up. These are two very different things. Letting go is harder than giving up. Giving up is so final. Letting go takes courage, but is so freeing.

So that’s my story. I hope you get something out of it. And if you’d like to meet for ice cream sometime and talk more, I’ll buy. Please don’t give up hope. Better, happier days are closer to you than you think.

With love and respect,

Cathy