ABOUT "MAYA STAR" Jeff has always been inspired to write, but never more so than after the birth of his daughter Maya Star. Shortly before Maya's first birthday, Jeff started keeping a regular journal about watching Maya grow up and viewing life through the eyes of a father. It's not so much a journal to record everything Maya ever does, but rather an exploration of fatherhood and of watching the most precious and important gift anyone could ever be given grow -- and watching yourself grow as a result. It's been an amazing journey with some definite ups and downs. Jeff can't wait to give this journal to Maya Star in the form of a book some day, when she's all grown up and the time is right.
* The following is the introductory chapter to the Maya Star journal, followed by a sample of the first several journal entries. For the latest and all future entries, go to www.mayastar.blogspot.com
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INTRODUCTION TO MAYA STAR
Why I haven’t sat down to spill my heart out about my daughter until this point is a question I don’t think I’ll ever be able to understand the answer to.
I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember. There were the late night hours during high school, when I’d wake up with a thought in my head and start scribbling it down as best I could. I was convinced my scribblings would some day find their way into music. I’d start a band and everyone, everywhere would know the lyrics I wrote. There was something about waking up during the night and the way it all came out onto paper that felt special. I could feel even back then that writing was more than a bunch of words on paper.
Writing has always held a special power, at least that’s been my experience. I can remember lying in the bed in my darkened apartment at Columbia College in Chicago in 1997. The only trickle of light finding its way through the crack in the window shade came from the streetlamp at the old Dearborn Station, located next to our building. It was just enough light to spread across the section of paper I was writing on. The music from a cassette tape of the The Doors soundtrack was playing thorough the speakers of the stereo I had set up in my closet. And, the music was perfect for the moment….
And right now, at this exact moment, it occurs to me that I may have just made my point of why writing is so special to me. I couldn’t begin to remember what the words were, or even what the direction of the poem was I was inspired to write that night, while listening to The Doors. But those few minutes in time are as clear as they were that day. I can remember the feeling. I can remember the floating feeling and the sense of freedom that came from moving the pen across the piece of paper. That freedom was everything.
I continued to write. I wrote about my experiences in college, as I was exposed to a new world. One of my roommates, Tsuneo Matsuura, was from Japan. And, I, at that time, like too many Americans, lived our lives secluded. For some reason, it has always seemed to me as though we just don’t care what goes on beyond our own borders. Sure, we pay attention sometimes, but I’m talking about a genuine interest. A true passion and love for the world as a whole, and for the tiny sliver of influence that we as American’s lay in the overall scope of life. And how other countries around the world impact everything. How everything anyone or anything does effects the environment. And even how the moon and the furthest reaches of outer space help make the earth the wonder it truly is. How it all works together to sustain this wonderful miracle we call life. Tsuneo, he’s had such an impact on the way I see life and the way I feel about writing. He taught me it’s not just about writing. It’s about being alive in the writing. He taught me it’s about the experience and that sometimes it’s not so much about conveying the visual in writing, but about translating the feeling that couldn’t necessarily be seen until it was written down. But that is another story for another time – a book in itself.
There’s my wife, who has continually steered me in the right direction, because there most certainly is a wrong direction. It scares me to think where I would have wandered without her. I tend to wander. And, to a certain degree, that’s how I see life and experience it. I wander. I go with feelings, absorb them and breathe them. But there’s a difference between destructive, apathetic wandering and separating yourself from that path by wandering with desire and purpose. True, unconditional love caused me to realize that important lesson in a hurry.
The list of people who have made me who I am today is endless. Each of them contributing in some profound way to the condition of the air around me when I write. I can only hope that as I continue to write these pages, that the meaning of that sentence will become clear to anyone who finds it necessary to read this.
My job today , and for the past eight years, has been writing for small community newspapers. Outside of work, I have continued to write poetry and have even started to write a book I have dreams of some day turning into a movie. But at this moment, there is yet another person who is having an incredible impact on my life. In fact, this person is impacting me like no one ever has before ‑ in a way I could never have imagined was possible until it happened.
It happened at exactly 10:40 p.m. Friday, Feb. 4, 2005 at Fairview University Riverside Hospital in Minneapolis, MN. After three days of attempting to induce my wife, and then some complications after finally going into labor, our daughter was born. There was a blue curtain strung like a wall in front of us, a team of doctors and nurses working quickly on the other side.
We could hear some talking as they performed the C-section. All seemed to be going well, but then there was a scare. We heard a doctor say, “Cut her (Tammy) wider.” The next words we heard were, “Call the NIC (Neonatal Intensive Care) unit.” We had no idea what was going on, but we later learned the ambilical chord was wrapped twice around my baby daughter’s neck. She was turning blue and there was no crying the first few seconds after she was brought into the world. But within seconds, our fears turned to a joy that has only become stronger with every passing day over the past year.
Maya Star Mores, my beautiful baby girl, is now six days away from celebrating her first birthday and she couldn’t be healthier. I’ll never forget my first glimpse at Maya. Since there had been some complications prior to the C-section, I decided to stay at Tammy’s side rather than watching the doctors pull Maya from my wife’s body. I wanted to be there to comfort Tammy, because by that time we both needed it. Then the moment came.
One of the doctors raised little Maya’s 7.4-pound, 20-inch-long body above the blue curtain for us to see. And it was like the yellow brush stroke of light I had always imagined eternity would look like. It was even better. There was Maya, with the most intense, yet gentle blue eyes I have ever seen, searching for something to focus in on. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful and full of emotion and life and innocence. Tammy and I were both overcome with emotion.
We were parents. It’s the one moment in my life I still haven’t found a way to put into words. There’s a line I saw inside a CD years ago that suggested even a spontaneous thought is compromised in some way in the instance between when it’s thought and when that thought is written onto paper. That’s the only way I can explain my lack of words for that moment. It’s one of those things that words simply can’t preserve as beautifully and purely as it most certainly was. It’s the most incredible miracle known to humanity and can only be truly felt by the mother and father at that exact instance in time.
That brings me to the keyboard today. Nearly a year has passed since Maya began breathing outside my wife’s body. And I still consider my little baby girl to be an absolute miracle. She has become my motivation to write. She is my motivation to live, to breathe, to l
ove, to do and be absolutely anything.
It hasn’t been that I haven’t wanted to write about her to this point, Nothing could be further from the truth. But, while I have absorbed every second of her life, I feel as though time and life have been moving at a different speed. Everything has gone so fast, yet so slow at the same time. I’ve watched Maya grow into a little girl who uses baby signs. Knows how to comb her hair and brush her teeth, drink from her own cup, wave hello and goodbye, chase our dog and cats around the house. She has the ability to make my heart swell to seventy times its original size by simply opening her eyes or turning her soft lips into a smile. But while I’m absorbing the miracle that is her life, I am also realizing she’s almost 1 year old. That means I may have just 17 years or so left until I don’t get to see Maya nearly every second of every day. She may go off to college. She may move out. She may get married. I don’t know.
The thought that time could come any sooner makes me break into tears every time.
Sunday, Jan. 29, 2006
Just a few minutes ago, I lay Maya to sleep in her crib. It was during those 10 minutes or so that I realized it was time to start writing about her. The time was right. She appeared to be fast asleep in my arms, resting her head on my shoulder. As I do every time I put Maya down for a nap, I wrap my arms around her tiny, soft, precious, perfect body and dance softly from side to side, across the nursery. There’s been something very special about that bond since Day 1.
It was so obvious from the beginning that the sound of a heartbeat and breathing comforted her more than anything. She spent the first nine months of life, before being born into the world, inside Tammy’s body. She was closer to the human heart and heard the beat and breathing closer and more intimately than any of us can remember or can ever dream of experiencing again.
So for me, dancing with her in the nursery as she falls asleep is very special. It’s something I treasure. I can sense the peacefulness Maya feels when she detects my heartbeat and hears the sound of my breathing as she lays her head on my chest and closes her eyes. The father can never begin to imagine the feeling of having a baby grow inside of him for nine months and then to deliver that tiny miracle into the world. So those few minutes, with Maya against my chest as I dance slowly around the nursery with her fast asleep is as close as I will ever get to feeling the bond the mother experiences.
Just before I lay her into the crib, I whisper into her ear that I love her more than anything. A tear still finds its way into my eye every time I whisper those words to her, give her a soft kiss on top of the head and then lay her down. But today, as I whispered those words, Maya lifted her head and opened her eyes. Her sleepy eyes looked directly into mine and she smiled for a second before laying her head on my chest again and drifting into a deep sleep. Now, I’m beginning to believe there is quite a bit about being a parent, and about watching a baby you brought into the world grow into a child and eventually an adult, that can never fully be captured with words.
I guess it’s kind of like that poem I wrote several years ago, with the small beam of light finding its way through the darkness and onto the piece of paper in front of me. The poem isn’t what’s remembered. The poem can only begin to breathe the energy that existed at that particular moment. But the memory of the experience of actually writing that poem is still as full of energy, inspiration and life as it was that evening.
As a parent, I’m realizing that every second of Maya Star’s life – every experience she encounters ‑ every breath she takes … There is no way any of it can be preserved or felt as powerfully through writing.
I have never experienced anything this real ever before.
February 15, 2006
The balloons are still floating on the air, and I’m not quite certain how. On Feb. 4, we threw a party for Maya’s first birthday. It was a blast. And, somehow, nearly two weeks later, all of the balloons that were scattered throughout the house still haven’t started to deflate. In fact, they’re all standing just as high in the air as they were on Maya’s big day.
And what a great day it was.
Every morning since, when I make my way downstairs, I see the balloons floating and the banner still strung across the sliding door. The banner reads “Happy 1st birthday Maya Star,” and there are cartoon lady bugs printed onto either side. It was a great party. Maya’s best friend, Victoria, came over with her parents. Tammy’s parents, one of her brothers and his girlfriend flew in from Chicago. Maya’s favorite daycare teacher, Desiree was there, as were several other friends of ours.
And when the party began, Maya took center stage. As soon as Victoria came through the front door with her parents, Maya’s eyes lit up. She was so excited to see her friend from daycare over at her house. They played and played and played, as only one-year0olds can. They shared toys and crawled around the main level of the house. They even made their way over to the sliding door in the dining room, where they both got onto their knees and placed their tiny hands on the window. It was absolutely adorable. Two tiny little girls, staring out the window together, focusing on whatever it was they were watching with every bit of attention they could muster. There was something out there they were amazed by.
It’s the little things that make being a parent so incredible. Just sitting there, watching Maya and Victoria look out tat window was an experience I won’t soon forget. They didn’t say a word … and hardly made a sound for that matter. They just stared. And once in a while they would turn their heads to one another, make eye contact or point to something. It was so obvious that they were communicating with each other. It was as if they knew exactly what the other one was thinking. It really makes me wonder what it would be like to be able to transport myself back into the body and mind of an infant. Everything is a new experience. Absolutely everything.
Later on that afternoon, Maya was hamming it up for everyone. She was laughing and giggling. She was pointing at everything, reaching her arms up to be held by everyone. She was crawling around, having a blast. It amazes me every day, watching Maya, seeing how genuinely happy she is. You can almost always get her to crack a smile or even start rolling with laughter. And she is such a learner. She is so interested in exploring new territory and examining new sounds, toys or anything else that unexpectedly comes across her path. At one point, Maya crawled up behind Victoria and started patting her on the back. She kept patting her, over and over. Her smile stretched all the way across her face.
I can only imagine how happy Maya will be, 20 years from now, when I’m able to tell her stories upon stories about all the wonderful things her mother did for her. As I looked around at the birthday party taking place and at all the decorations, I felt so proud to be married to Tammy. I’m thankful every day that Tammy is my wife. She and Maya are the world to me. But as I watched the party, I found myself wishing Maya were 20 years old so I could let her know all of the wonderful things her mother did for her that she’ll never be able to remember.
From the day Maya was born, Tammy was determined to make breast feeding work. It’s the best thing a mother can possibly provide for her baby … and that’s all Tammy had to hear. She started pumping immediately, waking up in the night to feed Maya, storing and freezing her milk to build a reserve for the day when her supply would naturally start to dwindle. It was so obvious, the love Tammy had for Maya.
Even after her maternity leave, Tammy was unwilling to short Maya of even a drop of milk. She wouldn’t even cave in and buy a drum of formula. She never did. Not once. Until a few days before Maya’s first birthday, Tammy had produced every drop they ever entered our daughter’s mouth. Tat includes the first few months, when Maya was feeding every three hours, including during the night. And, even after Maya started to grow and was sleeping in her crib and not requiring the middle-of-the-night feedings, Tammy continued to set her alarm for 2 a.m. so she could get up and pump. It’s what she needed to do in order to keep her supply from dipping. It would have been very easy for her to skip that nighttime pump and get a good night’s rest, but it wasn’t about what was convenient for her. It was about what was best for Maya. That’s why I love Tammy. She has priorities, She’s not lazy about things that matter. Maya is first, no mater what. No matter how much Tammy would have preferred to sleep or would have preferred to have some time for herself. She cares.
There are so many examples of the sacrifices Tammy has made for Maya this first year. But when you see the smile on Tammy’s face when she see’s Maya’s sparkling eyes after a long day of work or when we wake up in the morning, you’d understand. Having Maya and everything she brings to our lives makes every bit of sacrifice worth it. It’s not just about us any more. It’s about Maya. She’s the most important thing.
Being a parent can be tiring at times, but there’s always been an enthusiasm that outlasts any fatigue. For Maya’s birthday party, for example, Tammy found the time to bake Maya her very own first birthday cake. She spent more than an hour decorating the cake in the form of a tiny ladybug. Tammy hand-made Maya’s birthday party invitations. They were little ladybugs with wings that opened up to reveal the invitation inside. She ordered the balloons. She searched the internet to find Maya the perfect birthday hat and banner. She organized appetizers around the house for the party. And when it was time for Maya to dive into her very first piece of birthday cake, there was nothing better. It was hilarious. She was wearing every bit of the cake, across her face, in her hair and down her arms.
My hope is that this text will be around for you to read some day, my beautiful Maya. And, if it is, I know you will be touched reading about the love your mother has for you. The love she had for you from Day 1. Every second of every day.
Tammy expends quite a bit of energy at work during the week. She runs a flower business on many weekends. She has a lot going on. But she always finds the time to give Maya the best. I realize in the big picture of life, balloons, decorating and birthday cake aren’t the most important details. But understand the person this is all coming from. This is the same person who got up in the middle of the night, every night for a whole year, just to make sure she got an extra 3 ounces of milk for Maya in case she needed it. It’s not about buying. It’s about giving Maya the best. After all, Maya is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to us.
I’m the happiest man on the planet to have both of those beautiful, inspirational people in my life.
March 10, 2006
I had no idea how quickly life would change – at least temporarily – and how big a scare Tammy and I would be receiving just a few short hours after I finished typing my last entry in their journal. All I can say is that it’s nearly a month later now and I had never been so scared by anything in my entire life.
I wrote my last journal entry while Maya was taking a long afternoon nap. She was still sleeping when Tammy got home from a half day at work. I was home with Maya that morning because I had to take her to the doctor to get her ear checked out and to get some meds for an ear infection she had. Tammy walked in around 3:30 p.m. and I told her Maya seemed to be having a pretty good day despite her ear infection and stuffy nose. She had already been sleeping soundly for 2 ½ hours and I figured she was resting up and fighting her infection. I checked in on her several times and even stood there in the doorway of the nursery watching her sweet little body. Her soft breaths are so adorable.
So Tammy got home and I threw on my jacket to go to the newspaper to work for a few hours and get things ready for production, scheduled for the following day. I arrived at work at about 4 p.m. and was getting into the swing of things when I received a phone call. At the time, I was in Nathan’s, our assistant editor, office, talking about what stories had been completed. Nathan answered the phone and then turned to me. At the same instance he turned to me, my cell phone rang and I glanced down at it. Tammy’s cell phone number was on my caller ID. Then, I looked up at Nathan and he told me Tammy was on hold on our office phone and she told him it was an absolute emergency!
And that’s when the sickest feeling I’ve ever had came over my body. Some one was calling from our house on two different phones at the same time. And it was an emergency. Tammy was on the phone, so I knew something must be wrong or have happened to Maya. I was paralyzed.
I dropped my cell phone on the floor and rushed to pick up the office phone where Tammy was holding. And all I can remember hearing was, “Get home right now! Maya is having a seizure! The ambulance is coming and the emergency crew is here with oxygen.”
I remember dropping everything else that was in my hands and in my path to the front door at our office. I sprinted to my car and sped down the street immediately, panicked, and with my heart racing faster than I have ever felt it before. I could count the beats clearly as my heart raced and as I drove as fast as I could. Tears were falling from my eyes and I became horrified when I realized I had dropped my cell phone at my office in all the panic. It was 15 minutes until I would be home and I had no way on contacting Tammy in the meantime to find out if the seizure had been stopped or if Maya was OK!
I can remember the open farm fields on either side of my car flying by like a blur as I had the pedal to the floor. And I looked down to my speedometer, not to check my speed, but to glance at a photo of Maya I keep taped to my dash. I burst into a complete breakdown at that point. I could hardly see where I was driving and I just wanted to be home. I was more scared than I had ever been before. I could see Maya’s smiling face on the photo but the thought that she might not be all right tore my heart out. I just wanted to see her smile again. But, to be honest, all I could think was that I may never get to see my little girl smile again.
When I turned into our court, there were flashing lights everywhere. I could see the county sheriff’s car parked on the street in front of the house and an ambulance and emergency response vehicle both in our driveway. The ambulance started backing out of the driveway and the sirens sounded just as I threw my car into park. I had no idea where I just parked my car, if it was still turned on or anything. I sprinted to the ambulance as it was moving and threw open the side door to see Tammy in tears and my sweet little baby still seizing and two paramedics working on her.
I don’t remember how, but I found myself sitting in the front eat of the ambulance. I could see the road disappearing beneath us and could hear the sirens whaling and cars pulling to the side of the road. But it seemed like it was taking forever to get to the hospital. Almost the entire ride, I could see the paramedics working on Maya, trying to comfort her and get the seizure to stop. I saw Maya’s eyes for a brief instant and they were rolled to the back of her head. Tears were streaming down my face and I couldn’t think of anything to say except, “Please don’t take my baby away! Maya, I love you! Please make it stop!
In about 10 minutes, we were standing in the halls of the emergency room in New Prague and doctors had taken Maya’s clothes off and drawn a curtain to the room she was in. They had her on a bed and were pulling chords and wires and other equipment every which direction. I could see on even their faces that there was a bit of panic. The seizure was closing in on 50 minutes 
and it had not yet stopped.
At points we were able to se into the room and at others we were not. We could hear sounds, with no visual, and it was terrifying. Was she going to make it? Had she lost oxygen at any point? Was there brain damage? Were we going to see our little girl? I just wanted to throw my arms around her and make her better. I tell Maya every time she falls and bumps her head or any time she even starts to loose her balance, that daddy will never let anything happen to his sweetheart. I tell her I’ll always be there for her. But, here, I was helpless. I had to depend on someone else to save my girl. And I didn’t know how things would turn out.
There was a small sense of relief when the doctors emerged from the room to tell us they were able to stop the seizure and Maya was stabilized. But she was put under sedation. The curtain opened for us and Maya was hooked up to more machinery and tubes than I’d seen anyone hooked to before. And the next thing we heard was that she was going to be airlifted by helicopter to Children’s Hospital in Minneapolis.
As I sit here typing this horrifying diary entry, I keep finding myself pausing to listen down the hallway. Right now, Maya is taking a nap. The last time I typed en entry like this, she was also taking a nap. It’s been a month since the seizure and I’m still extremely nervous any time Maya is out of my sight or any time she is down for a nap.
But back to the events of February 15.
The doctors told Tammy and I they were going to check Maya’s spinal fluid for meningitis. I had no idea what tat was, but knew from hearing the term on television shows and news broadcasts, that it wasn’t good. Thankfully, that was ruled out as the fluid came back crystal clear. After what seemed like an eternity, I could hear the echo of the helicopter landing outside the hospital. Tammy was able to ride with Maya on the chopper to the hospital in Minneapolis, but that was all the weight it could transport. So our neighbor picked me up and drove me to our house, where I got into our car and sped to Minneapolis.
The time it took me to drive to Children’s Hospital seemed to crawl. I just wanted to be there. What were they doing to Maya? Was there any update on her condition? When the hell would we know if she was going to be OK? I just want someone to tell me she’s going to be OK. Please! How did any of this happen!
We knew we were in good hands at Children’s Hospital, as we had an incredible cast of nurses, doctors, neurological doctors and more surrounded Maya. We remained in the hospital for about a week and a half, the first six days of which Maya was in the intensive care unit. For the majority of those six days, Maya was under sedation, so we only go to see her move or slightly open her eyes for a few brief moments each day. She had breathing and feeding tubes and a number of other mechanisms keeping her vitals and other readings on an overhead monitor. There was a morphine drip and some other medications flowing through her. And there was a stint sewn to her neck so doctors could inject fluids and other treatment meds with ease, rather than poking Maya endlessly with needles.
For the first couple of days, Maya was nearly motionless. Tammy and I hardly left her bedside, and there was a nurse assigned to her room 24 hours per day. The nurses rotated a couple times per day, but there was someone watching Maya from close range at every moment of every day. The doctors thought Maya had made enough progress to attempt to remove her breathing tube on the third day. But it was obvious from the start she was struggling to get air. Her throat was so swollen from the tubes that had been stuck down her that she was finding it difficult to get enough air in her breaths. Respiratory professionals were pumping air into her with an airbag and feeding her meds through a vapor tube at the opening of her mouth. Maya had come out of hr sedation and even cracked a smile when she was a balloon in the corner of the room. She loves balloons.
But the happiness was short lived, as nurses were placing an oxygen mask over her face within minutes. Tammy had gotten to hold Maya for a short time, but everyone knew Maya was struggling. So an emergency re-intubation was ordered, and Tammy couldn’t bare to watch. And, in the end, I wish I hadn’t watched either. Maya’s throat was so swollen that it was impossible to get the same size breathing tube back down her throat. The doctor quickly called for the next size smaller and I could hear the buzzers sounding all around Maya’s bedside. Her numbers were dropping and I could see the doctor working quickly to try to find the path down Maya’s airway. I moved into the hallway and put my face into my hands and started crying. My eyes were closed, but I could hear the beeping and buzzers and none of it sounded good. I peeked into the room again and saw Maya laying there motionless with a team of doctors and nurses surrounding her. But a few minutes later, I heard the doctor say they had it. And the buzzers faded away and a sense of calm came over everyone in the room. I was so relieved. I didn’t think Maya was in any extreme danger during the ordeal, but it did make me realize it was going to be a long road to recovery. They weren’t just going to pull her off oxygen and we return to every day life.
So Maya was put under sedation once again and we were told she would remain that way for two full days. They would pump her with meds to reduce the swelling in her throat during tat time, then attempt a second removal of her air tube. It was so painful to see her laying there those two days, completely motionless. Tammy and I stared at her vital readings around the clock. But as the days passed, it was incredible the support we received from friends, family and others. Stuffed animals kept showing up for Maya. And, before we knew it, balloons filled her room. Phone calls were streaming in from people from the Twin Cities and friends and family in various states. Our email was loaded with new emails every day, with people asking for updates on Maya. And the director and parents of Maya’s friends at daycare were stopping by to visit or calling us on the phone for updates. Everyone seemed so genuinely concerned. Knowing so many people loved our sweet little girl was so helpful. By the time we left the hospital, approximately 1/3 of Maya’s hospital bed was filled with stuffed animals and every corner of her room was packed with balloons. And when she finally started to make measurable progress toward recovery, she was extremely happy and giggly, seeing all the gifts around her.
But it was to be some time before that moment came.
Maya’s tube was removed on that third day after re-intubation. And this time it stayed out. She was breathing well on her own and was able to start coughing up the mass of fluid that had collected in her lungs during the long seizure. We were so excited to finally have our baby back.
But it was very scary at first. Brain scans and other tests indicated it was unlikely Maya suffered any brain damage. But we were warned he would be a bit sluggish for a few days and her energy would be down. They also told us parts of Maya’s brain might be slow to kick back into gear, as is typical with patients in her condition. And it was every bit like they had warned us … and then som
e.
The first day, Maya was barely able to hold herself in a sitting position. The second day, she managed to do that on her own, but had lots of trouble holding her head straight. And for the two days to follow, the second of which we were moved to a step-down room outside the intensive care division, it was as if Maya were in severe withdrawl form the drugs she had been pumped full of while under sedation. In fact, she was in withdrawl. Every time there was a sound in the room, she jerked her head in a complete panic. Her head would go from side to side, as if she was hallucinating or terrified that every sound was going to hurt her. And the more I think about it today, I bet she was also terrified that she had woken up in a place tat was completely unrecognizable to her. She was just 1 year old and had no idea where she was, why she was so sore and why people kept coming in to take her temperature, pop her with meds and that sort of thing.
After a few days in the step-down area, we were all ready to just go home. Maya wasn’t doing any of her hand signs, was struggling to eat on her own and was very weak, but she had made measurable progress. Every day, something else was coming back to her. And we knew once she got home in familiar surroundings and saw her dog and two cats, she would start to thrive again. And as soon as we walked in the door, she was the dog and cats and started laughing uncontrollably. Seeing her react that way was the greatest thing tat had happened to us in almost two weeks. We knew little Maya was going to make a full recovery. It was just a matter of time.
It’s scary as hell to this day. Tammy and I still think about Maya having another seizure. We’re told there’s a 50 percent chance it could happen again. I guess we won’t be entirely out of the woods until Maya turns five or six years old. It’s one of those things I never want to think about, but often do. As a father, I want to be able to protect Maya from everything. This is the one thing I may not be able to protect her from and that’s hard to accept sometimes. But I can guarantee she’s going to get the most love and the best care anyone has ever had.
My little girl deserves all of that and more.
March 11, 2006
My first three entries in this journal have been pretty lengthy. There have been some pretty big things happening. But I want to make sure I include so many of the little experiences that making being a father as incredibly …… I don’t even have the words to describe how incredibly awesome it is, actually.
But here goes …
A few minutes ago, I just finished giving Maya her last milk bottle for the night and then set her sweet little body down in the crib. I absolutely love and long for the sense of complete peacefulness that comes over the entire room every time I set Maya down and she is breathing so softly and in a complete state of sleep. It doesn’t matter how awesome or crappy any given day has been. The second she closes her eyes and that soft breathing starts and the feeling of such an incredible rush of love comes over me with Maya sleeping on my shoulder, there is nothing that could possibly ruin the moment. If everyone could feel exactly like I do each night when I put Maya down to sleep, I wouldn’t be sitting down afterward to hear about the war in Iraq or shootings in Minneapolis or any of that senseless crap. Unconditional love is a beautiful and amazing thing. It’s incredible. There’s nothing like it. Everything is love and peace.
What I originally sat down to chronicle was the awesomest little moment I experienced while feeding Maya her last bottle for the night. I had her lying against my arm and was rocking her in the chair in the nursery. The only tiny source of light was coming from a small nightlight to the side of us. Everything else was completely dark. Maya was sucking down her bottle and I was amazed by the preciousness of the moment and what I saw.
Maya had the bottle to her lips and from my vantage point, her sweet little face was silhouetted by the night light a short distance behind her. Everything was black except for the outline of her tiny nose, her lips and those beautiful eyes. I stared for several minutes at her eye lashes silhouetted, as they closed and opened again, over and over. Each time, her tired, beautiful little eyes would reappear from beneath her eyelids, it was like magic. I kept thinking to myself, “There’s nothing better than this.” What a gift. I am floored by tiny details and moments like this every day. I can’t believe I was a part of making something so precious and beautiful. I am driven every day to create and express. I write. I paint. It is my drive and purpose in life to create something completely spontaneous, before it has the chance to be altered or influenced by the outside world. That kind of purity matters to me. And every time I look at my little Maya, I realize there’s nothing I’m ever going to be a part of creating that is any more beautiful or pure or genuine or innocent as she is. Every day, I get to hold perfection. And that perfection loves me back. I love my Maya.
April 26, 2006
Wow.
It’s been a while since I wrote last. There are so many things about Maya I want to write. The material is endless. But, to be honest, I feel tired. Being a father is the most incredible thing. But Maya can wear me down pretty quick. I don’t know how she keeps going and going and going.
Maybe it’s because I’m 32 years old and a little older than most first-time fathers. I’m sure it has something to do with the fact I have a second job right now and sleep doesn’t often come in large chunks. And, maybe it’s because Tammy, Maya and I live two states away from our closest relatives, so taking Maya over to the grandparents’ house for an afternoon so we can catch up on our sleep isn’t an option.
But whatever. I’m tired, but I wouldn’t trade anything about being a father to Maya. I was just staring at her today, watching her smile grow larger and larger as I made funny sounds and funny faces at her. Just putting my arms around her brings the most incredible, indescribable energy into me. All of the fatigue dissolves. Seeing her smile and hearing her babble and seeing her accomplish something and look over at me with excitement is everything I live for.
I talk about being tired, but how could anyone even dream about having it any other way. After all, I get to see one of the most innocent creatures on Earth grow up. I get to witness her life. And I’m a part of it. In her eyes, I’m as big as the world. And, to me, she’s so much bigger than even that.
These days, Maya is quite active. She’s moving around everywhere, non stop. Tammy and I have been working so hard with her on walking … and she’s almost there. She’s made such huge strides just in the past couple of weeks. For so long, she had no desire to walk. She was perfectly content cruising around everywhere on her hands and knees. But now she’s standing herself up all the time. Every time she rises to her feet, she gets the proudest expression on her face and looks to Tammy and I for approval. When she sees us clap and hears us praise her, she gets so excited. She hangs onto the couch or whatever is in her reach and bounces up and down with laughter and her eyes light up.
We’ve been working with Maya on walking by having her hold onto our fingers and take steps forward. She walks and walks and walks. Every now and then, after a bunch of steps, she’ll look straight up at us standing over her and we’ll cheer for her. She gets a huge smile. It seems to give her a jolt of energy, because she normally responds to our cheers by rattling off another 15-20 steps. That may seem like little stuff to some people, but to a parent, something like that is everything.
Like three nights ago, Tammy was playing with Maya downstairs and decided to throw a ball on the steps to see what our little girl would do. At first, Maya started going up and down just the first step. But then she decided to chase the ball all the way up the stairs to the main level, and she did it with such a burst of energy and with such control. It was amazing!
It’s amazing because we remember Maya just a handful of months ago, having so little muscle tone that she could barely sit herself up straight. Now she’s climbing stairs. Now she’s about to walk on her own. Now she’s saying mama and dada. She’s not a baby anymore. Just tonight, Tammy and I were feeding Maya dinner and noticed something. We had taken her shoes and socks off to let her feet air out and she was wiggling her toes around. I’m sure the air hitting them felt awesome. After all, there was just the right touch of cool spring air blowing through the open window behind us. And what we noticed was how fast her feet are growing. Her feet aren’t even baby feet anymore. They’re toddler feet … and there’s a big difference.
I’m so proud of how Maya is growing up. Maybe it’s just the parent in me, but I really believe Maya has a very unique personality. She’s always smiling , and her smile has the power to light anyone up, no matter what the situation. She’s so alert and interested in everything. She loves other children and loves those who love her. We’re so fortunate to have such dedicated individuals looking after her at daycare during the day. Desire, Tracy, Alisha and Shyla are like family to us. That may sound cheesy, but they really are. In fact, Tammy and I will probably try to set a date to go out and see a movie some night soon. And we’ll ask Desiree to babysit Maya over anyone else we know. That’s the kind of trust we have in her. We can tell Desire genuinely cares for and loves Maya. And Maya couldn’t be happier to hang out with Desiree.
I’m skipping all over the place here, but there’s so much running through my head. There’s so much going on with Maya right now. There’s so much, I feel like I don’t know where to begin and end when I sit down to write about her. But that’s when I remember how good I have it. I have it good because I’m Maya’s father. There’s no one who knows her better than Tammy and I.
She’s a part of us.
The only word I can think of to describe what I’m feeling right now is the same word I started this journal entry off with ---
--- Wow!
May 28, 2006
It seems as though every time I sit down to write about Maya, it’s while she’s taking a nap. That’s what she’s doing right now and it finally gives me the opportunity to type out something I’ve had floating around in my head for the past three or four weeks.
It was then I was sitting in my front yard late at night talking on the phone to my friend Doug in Phoenix. I went outside to talk on the phone because we get horrible cell phone reception sometimes in our neighborhood. I kept getting cut off in the house, so I went outside to try my luck without walls surrounding me.
It worked out extremely well. Not only did I get great reception, but I had an opportunity to talk on the phone with a good friend, while breathing fresh air and looking up at the stars tat dotted the sky on that clear night.
But my reason for writing this isn’t to tell anyone how great it was to sit in the grass while talking on the phone. During my conversation with Doug, the topic of fatherhood came up, It always does these days, as Doug has two young children of his own. And during our talk, it occurred to me how much my life has changed. It occurred to me how much I’ve changed. I mean, I knew I changed the day Maya came into the world. A father can’t help but mature about a million years. Bringing another human being into he world takes a lot of responsibility … and raising tat child takes even more.
So while we were talking, Doug mentioned something to me about how he now realizes what unconditional love really is. And it occurred to me just how much things have changed.
I’ve never considered myself to be someone who into me. I mean,. I’m happy with who I am and what makes me tick. But I get much more joy out of doing things for others than I do doing something for myself. In most instances, I don’t mind sacrificing something I want or my own time to do something to make someone else happy. That, I believe, brings the most joy in life.
That’s what I thought. And I still do, But I’m realizing now, that despite everything I thought I was doing for others for the first 30 years of my life, it still was, in large part, ALL ABOUT ME.
The more I think about it, the more I think it’s human nature. It’s just about everyone. I thought I was always giving, rather than receiving. But when I thinnk about how my time is spent these days, with Maya in my life, compared to how I spent my time before she was born … It’s so obvious it was all about me.
I’ve never been big into fancy clothes, but I always enjoyed having something new now and then. I complained about being too busy with work and other things to go see a band that was coming through town. I can remember getting frustrated because so many times I felt like by the time work and house cleaning and yard work were done, it was time for bed. There was no time for me.
But looking back now, I think I was kind of selfish. Either that or I didn’t manage my time well. Because having Maya around is a 24 hour a day, seven day a week, 365-day a year job for both Tammy and I.. We’re always on call. And, although we have been very lucky that Maya almost always sleeps through he night, it can still wear a person out. A parent’s energy level is never at 100 percent. If you love your child, then I’m convinced that true.
So what I’m wondering now is how I could have been complaining about being to busy before. How have I just added a child to my life and I’m still able to get everything done? So I think back to what I did before. There was a lot of time spent watching television. Anyone who knows me knows I don’t watch much television, but I do like watching baseball, football and things like that. That is no longer a priority. It happens when there’s time. If there’s time.
I can’t remember the last time I thought about going to see a concert or movie. Tammy and went to the $2 theater quite regularly before. I went to concerts. She did things and I did things and we did things together. On Sunday mornings, we slept in until 10 a.m. or later. On Saturday mornings, we did the same. We’d decide to go out to eat if we were in the mood. And so many other things I can’t think of right now.
Look at every one of those things and it’s something that was done for ME. Every time I turned around, I was doing something for me. Doin
g something to satisfy my needs or desires. Doing something because I wanted to.
Bringing Maya into the world taught me an important lesson. I had always believed doing for others was more important than doing for myself. I always try to put my wife first. And now I always try to put my daughter and wife before myself. But that philosophy has become so engrained now that Maya is here. When she was born, she was helpless. It is only because of the love and care and food and nurturing and cuddling that Tammy and I gave here, that Maya is alive and healthy today. We are her world. How she grows up, how she loves, how she communicates, how she walks, how -----anything you could possibly think of to fill in the blank ------- it’s because of Tammy and I and other influences Maya comes into contact with. That’s heavy stuff.
So even as I write this, I’m learning from Maya. Some of what I’ve written is probably confused babble. But it’s what goes through the mind of this father, anyway. It’s real. It’s fatherhood. It’s love. It’s unconditional love taking over my life …. And I’m so OK with that. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
It’s not just about me anymore. It’s al about Maya and my family. They depend on me and I want to deliver. I want to give my daughter the best, happiest, love-filled life anyone has ever known. I want her to see the beauty in everything. There is no one thing she did to cause me to want to give up anything and everything I once believed to be so important. There’s just an unconditional love that’s always been there. It doesn’t have to grow. It’s already bigger than anything imaginable.
Sure, there are times I wish I had more time for other things, like writing, painting, exercising, hiking and tat sort of thing. But the coolest thing for a father is to know that some day I will not only get to do those things regularly again, but I will get to do them with Maya by my side. I feel as though I’m going to burst into tears thinking about that. I love my Maya so much. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give up for my sweet little girl.
June 6, 2006
Maya has acquired quite a few nicknames during her first 16 months on this Earth. In fact, the nicknames began before she was even born. I an remember us settling on a cute nickname when she was just two months in the womb.
Maya’s first nickname was “Papaya.” Tammy came up with the name and it was so cute. Why papaya, you ask? Well, it rhymes with Maya and it’s kind of unique. It has a cute ring to it. It was absolutely perfect.
So when Maya was finally born, we called her our Lttle Papaya … our Maya Papaya … Pumpkin Paya … and probably a whole lot of other things that rhymed with that. The nickname continued to evolve. And, in time, other nicknames surfaced.
Doodlebug has been one that we’ve used quite often. Our Little Doodlebug … Our Bug … Sweet Bugaboo …
And, last but certainly not least, the grand daddy of them all … “Goose.” That one still sticks today. In fact, I think I call Maya “Goose” more than I call her “Maya.” I think it all started when Tammy’s brother Brad and his fiancé Lisa gave Maya a little stuffed Goose. Maya absolutely loved the goose. Whenever she saw the goose, she would reach her arms out and hug it. She’d kiss it and sometimes even attempt to swallow the poor goose’s head. That little white goose was Maya’s favorite toy for the first several months of her life.
So, somehow, from all of that, we started calling Maya “Our sweet little Goose.” Like all the other names, there have been so many variations. I love calling Maya “Goosey.” And sometimes she’s “My Gooseybug.” Anyone who isn’t a parent and is reading this, especially males, probably thinks I’m an idiot. Maybe I am. But I think once you become a parent, some things you would never been caught dead in a million years saying are all of a sudden cool. It doesn’t matter anymore what other adults think. If I want to call Maya some ridiculous nickname and it makes her start giggling, I’m going to do it every time.
Speaking of nicknames, one of the latest names we’ve come up with is “Monkey.” And, the word “Monkey” brings me to the keyboard today.
For the past several months, we’ve been working over and over and over with Maya, trying to get her to walk. For a while after her seizure, she didn’t seem to be making much progress. But over the past couple of months, she has made huge strides, but still no walking on her own. She’s 16 months old, so I guess you could say she’s a bit behind, but I don’t like to sue the word “behind.” After all, Maya is probably ahead in just about every other facet of development, especially when it comes to the mental side of things. She’s extremely smart and can be taught just about anything in the span of a day ro so.
But walking has been the exception. It used to be that Maya just seemed very comfortable with crawling and exploring her world that way. Tammy and I have worked with her a lot and now we actually have Maya wanting to stand up all the time and wanting to grab onto our hands as we guide her step by step across the room or down the driveway and back. She gets such a proud look on her face when she hears us clap for her when she does a good job.
She’s come such a long way from a few short months ago when we couldn’t get Maya so much as to bend her knees when we’d stand Maya up against the coach. She’d hang on for dear life and was afraid to bend her knees because she wanted to keep perfect balance. She was terrified.
It’s amazing watching the development of a child. Watching Maya has been such a lesson for me. You see first hand how helpless and pure and completely brand new she really is. Everything she does is new to her. She’s never done anything, ever before. That in itself is amazing to me.
So Tammy and I continue to practice walking with Maya. Sure, at times we do get frustrated, because we can see Maya will be able to walk on her own very soon. She’s just not sure if she wants to take that step on her own. So you can imagine our cheers and joy when, out of nowhere, Maya decides to stand herself up and let go of everything. She wobbles slightly under the support of her own legs for a few seconds and smiles so big. She knows it’s an accomplishment. She knows she’s getting close. She’s getting stronger. When she takes that first step on her own, the confidence is just going to boil over.
So what does all of this have to do with a monkey, you ask?
A lot.
Despite the fact Maya hasn’t taken her first step without the aid of our hands, a walking toy or a couch, she is certainly capable of climbing. And I’m not just talking about climbing over a pile of clothes on the floor or something like that. She can climb … straight up.
The first big thing Maya ever climbed came about a month ago when Tammy, Maya and I went to the zoo with Maya’s friend Victoria and her mother Faith. We took the kids to see the grand opening of the new Africa exhibit at the Minnesota Zoo. It’s an awesome exhibit, where giraffes, ostrich, gazelle, and other animals co-exist together. They are al wandering around, doing their own things in a large open area with trees, hills, long grasses, ponds and so on. Maya wasn’t into walking that day, even with my hands there to help guide her. But when Tammy and I turned around, we caught Maya attempting to climb up the short fence tat separates the visitors from the animals in the Africa exhibit.
When I say “climb,” I mean “climb.” Words can’t do what we witnessed justice. So I’ve attached a photo we snapped off of Maya scaling the zoo fence. I’ve attached that photo to this journal entry for everyone to see. Our little Maya grabbed a hold of the fence, stuck both her feet into ringlets on the fence and started pulling herself upward. Up she went. There was even a moment when Maya stopped and began bouncing up and down with her arms and feet securely planted in the chain link fence.
So, in addition to Papaya, Doodlebug and Goose, Maya has now earned herself the nickname, “Monkey.”
Maya’s climbing adventures didn’t end with her episode at the Africa exhibit at the zoo. The next day, she was attempting to climb over the baby gates we have blocking off both staircases in our house. And just last week, I came out of the bathroom to find Maya climbing up onto a stool in our basement and then thrusting herself onto the table the stool had been pushed under. Granted, the stool and table are part of her playroom, so they’re lower to the floor than most tables and chairs, but it was still a good climb and took some serious strength.
Then, the big one took place Sunday night when Maya decided to step onto my leg in order to get enough lift to catapult herself onto the seat of our sectional sofa. It was a matter of one step, wedging her foot between a cushion and thrusting herself upward with her hands and legs. It was a quick as that. Tammy and I stood there in amazement, but before we could react to what had happened, Maya had decided to climb back down from the couch.
That’s my little Monkey.
June 27, 2006
Lately, there’s only a few times each month when I have both the time and the creative juices flowing to add to this Maya journal. So what I’ve been doing is jotting down notes to myself for potential topics for journal entries. I may not have time or energy to write every week, but Maya certainly delivers enough quality material for me to keep writing forever.
Over the past couple of weeks, my list of topics has grown considerably as has Maya. She’s doing something new just about every day. Just this past weekend, for example, Tammy and I thought Maya was really going to take her first steps on her own. We were at the butterfly garden at the Minnesota Zoo and Maya was walking between Tammy and I. She was walking faster and faster and finally with just one of us lending one finger for support along the way. She’s starting to get a confidence in her step now and take chances. It’s incredible to see the independence and confidence growing inside her.
There were no first steps without any hands on that day, but we’re going back to the butterfly garden next weekend and the one after that to see if she finally will. For some reason, Maya is at her most confident in that surrounding. Maybe it’s the peaceful feeling of the floating butterflies and the quiet surroundings that bring it on. I don’t know. But whatever it is, it’s so exciting as a parent to see Maya making strides.
But while my list of Maya topics and stories continues to grow by the day, it’s something that took me completely by surprise that I am at the keyboard to write about today. On Saturday night, Maya went to her first baseball game. Anyone who knows me knows how passionate I am about baseball. Well, about a month ago, I got tickets through my work for a friend and I to go see the Minnesota Twins play the Chicago Cubs in Interleague play at the Metrodome in Minneapolis. Tammy’s friend Jody and her husband Steve, who I’ve gotten to know over the years and who is a very big baseball fan in his own right, were in town visiting us. They brought their 10-month-old son Josh and we had planned to let the kids play together and hang out, talk and do fun things all weekend.
So I figured getting tickets for Steve and I to see the baseball game on that Saturday would be a fun thing. I happened to get four tickets just in case Tammy and Jody wanted to go, but figured that might not work because the kids wouldn’t be able to make it through an entire game. After all, Josh isn’t even a year old yet and Maya is just 16 months old.
Well, I was wrong.
Maya and Josh did end up going to the game with us. And not only did Maya make it through the entire game, but she had an absolute blast for the majority of the time. I was so proud getting Maya ready for the game. When I changed her diaper, I also got out her brand new pink Twins shirt and put it on her. I couldn’t believe we were taking her to a baseball game at just 16 months old. But it was such a rush for me to see her smiling in her Twins shirt. And to see how fascinated she was by the event as we walked toward the stadium. She saw all the people in their hats and jerseys, walking around outside. There were fans everywhere and the music was playing and the baseball banners and flags were flapping wildly in the wind in front of the Metrodome.
Once we were in our seats, the real fun began. Music began pumping through the sound system as the players took the field to start each new inning. As the music blared, Maya did her cute little dance that she does by waving her hands and arms around and swaying her head. She always does it with a big smile on her face. She loves music and loves to dance. So that set the stage for good things to come.
If there’s one other thing Maya loves to do, it’s clap. She’s always clapping. So every time the fans jumped to their feet to cheer or clap, Maya started laughing loudly and clapping her hands as fast as she could. Her eyes were shining so brightly and she was giggling so wildly …. It was so obvious she was having a blast.
Maybe all of this is something only I am going to understand. Maybe all of it sounds like a bunch of pointless jumble, but I’ll never forget it no matter what it was. It was Maya’s first baseball game and I absolutely adored the opportunity to watch her take it all in. It seemed as though she genuinely enjoyed looking down on the field and wondering what the heck was going on down there. She stared up at the ceiling of the Metrodome above. She watched the fans sitting around us. She listened to the cheers and the noise and it almost looked in her eyes like she had an expression that was saying, “This is awesome. I’m so happy!”
Some people might say it’s just me dreaming it all up. How could a 16-month-old possibly enjoy a baseball game? But I was there to see it. She did. And I have the photos to prove it. I’ll never forget the look on her face as she cheered. It’s not just moments like those at a baseball game either. It doesn’t have to be baseball at all. I’m absolutely in awe and in love every time I watch Maya do just about anything. She constantly amazes me, inspires me and fills me with life.
Sure, she got a little fidgety at times toward the end of the game. But it wasn’t about the game. It was about my little girl experiencing something new. And she ate it up. She was glowing with excitement. That smile and those shining eyes jolted me with enough life and enthusiasm to make me feel like I was a teenager again.
