Buckle Me Out, Nana

Those of us who care for young children often say, “Let’s get you buckled in.” The use of car seats is a given in today’s culture, and our kids and grandkids know the drill – we don’t go anywhere without our seat belts on. But when we arrive at our destination, they’re done with the restraints. The delightful and determined Elizabeth Holiday, age three, reminds me as soon as we pull in the driveway: “Buckle me out, Nana.” 

Buckle me out and buckle me in. These two phrases symbolize the hopes and prayers of our family over the last few weeks. If it’s possible for babies to communicate before birth, our first grandson, Henry Kyle, was sending a clear message, “Buckle me out of here, Mama”! With his due date quickly approaching, Hank the Tank was attempting to elbow his way out of his temporary home, and his mother was more than ready to trade sleepless nights as an expectant mother for sleepless nights as the mother of a newborn. Henry Kyle Shade made his appearance before dawn on March 14^th, to the delight of his big sisters, the lovely Madelyn Simone and darling Elizabeth. We are, of course, smitten with this new little one as well, although I am derelict in my duty, as I haven’t yet discovered the perfect descriptor to use when writing about him. I think I just need a few more hours of Nana snuggle time to sort that out.

As Henry and his mother got acquainted at the hospital, they were literally doors away from our youngest son and his wife, who have made the Aultman Hospital antenatal wing their home away from home for the past forty days. With a high-risk pregnancy, potential signs of labor sent them to the hospital in early February, and they’ve been there ever since. Friends and family have been whispering a similar prayer daily: “Stay buckled in, dear Emma Belle, stay buckled in.” Not sure those words are found in the Book of Common Prayer, but it’s all we’ve got these days. 

Baby Emma is nearing the thirty-week mark of development, and her mom and dad are encouraged because her chances of survival are so much better than when Becky was first admitted to the hospital. We are so grateful for the professional and compassionate concern of the medical personnel, for the support of family and friends, and for the daily signs of providential care present in Room 412. 

I’ve been reminded this week of the parenting advice that hung in our home for many years, from an unknown source: “There are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children. One of these is roots, the other wings.” Over the life of a child, there are hundreds of times when we buckle our children in, and encourage their roots to go deep. We nurture them in the womb and at the breast, we keep them from running into the street or touching the hot stove, and we teach them of the power of family and faith, of song, of kindness, of belonging. 

Yet from the day of their birth, we begin the process of releasing them to what can seem a cold, uncaring world. We allow them the freedom of the sandbox and the playground, the first cell phone, and their “temps,” that portentous sign of impending adulthood guaranteed to raise a parent’s blood pressure by twenty points. Each unbuckling brings its own anxiety, but we trust that the balance of roots and wings, based upon age and maturity, will allow for safe flight, even if only to the end of the driveway – or halfway around the world.   

For people of faith, the holding and the releasing tends to be accompanied by prayer. One of my favorite authors, Anne Lamott, suggests that help, thanks, and wow are the three essential prayers of life, and we’ve uttered them for years. Now, as both great joy and great concern co-exist, they echo again. Help. Thanks. Wow. And, for today, and hopefully a few more weeks, “Stay buckled in, sweet Emma, stay buckled in.”