Precious Life

Before Jake was born, and before I was even with child, it was just Billy and I. It was then that we somehow managed to illicit friendships with the neighbor folks. A lot of them. The octogenerian set. That is what you get in a condo building in our part of town.
When our friends found out we were expecting, much excitement was felt throughout the courtyard. Stopped frequently by enthusiastic congratulations and talks and memories of raising their own little ones many years ago. We were gracious for thier gifts. Not only of the standard onesies, photo albums and recieving blankets, but also the advice, support, and cheerful smiles.
When Jake finally arrived, we could barely sit on our front patio without feeling somewhat accosted by the curious and happy-for-us neighbor friends who wanted to stop by and meet our little bundle and of course, bestow MORE gifts and wisdom. That with the colic we most surely needed, appreciated and accepted.
In the days and weeks that followed, a few of our most eager friends seem to have disappeared. I missed the quick chats in the parking lot, on the patio, and under the apple tree in the courtyard. The invitations to come by with the baby or if we needed some support or a break.
And then yesterday happened.
Neighbor Rich banged on our door with his cane. Insisting we open up immediately so he could rest his eyes on the peanut. If you didn't know him better, you would surmise that his gruffness translated into insensitivity, however we knew better. He then went on to tell us about his pain. The arthritis that has taken over his body and left him virtually immobile. How it was so severe that he was going to be asking the doctor to kindly unplug his heart defribulator pumping inside his body so that he could die peacefully within two weeks of a massive heart attack. Luckily, he told us, there was a renewed hope as his newest medications seemed to be easing it a bit.
Then there was neigbor Dorothy. We were laying on the couch with the baby finally asleep restfully after his first round of shots. I rolled my eyes when I saw her approaching, annoyed that my first real time to relax was being interrupted. She knocked ever so gently and with such timidity that I was ashamed at my initial annoyance.
She came in and of course, was looking for the baby. It was then she told us that she was blind. Suddenly. Seems as if some strep had settled in her one good eye leaving her blinded. The good news was that she was going to be able to keep the eye. If it had happened when she was fifty she is pretty sure she would have killed herself, because now, literally overnight, at the age of 78, she cannot do anything. Drive, cook, dress, read. She cannot SEE. It's no way to live, she tells us. Her own grown children are devastated for her. WE are devastated for her. She was sad that she couldn't see the baby that she had so anticipated watching grow.
Once she left and we settled back into our places on the couch, it sunk in more fully.
As I looked down at the precious bundle in my arms, I thought about the beauty of life, as well as the horror of it. I hope Jake knows one day how much he was loved by so many people without ever having to try. I hope he knows that there were some special people that loved him as they were leaving this world and he was entering it, and how those people calmed us, soothed us, supported us and helped us get his life started.
Mostly, I hope he learns to respect life, and the life cycle and how precious it all is.