Bringing Home Bear

by Jason Roseberry

I wanted to get my wife and my new baby home from the hospital. It seemed like an easy enough task days before, but as of this day — after the labor, the birth, the seeing his amazing face — it had become an epic battle in my mind. The funny thing is that no one prepares you for this part of the parenting process. Hannegan and I had read every book, and every magazine, but they didn’t talk about it. Other parents who were so freely offering unsolicited advice the previous nine months never mentioned it. Yet, anyone who dares to birth a child at a hospital is faced with the same daunting task — how do you transport a newborn from the hospital room to the safe haven prepared at home?

At 3 a.m. on the big day, Hannegan and I sat planning our attack with military precision as she fed our son. The plan was for me to start making small trips with suitcases at 6 a.m. directly after I had retrieved breakfast for myself at the hospital cafeteria that was located approximately 17 miles down the hallway. Afterwards, I would bring in the car seat, read the 732 page manual, and attempt to strap our son into the device. Next, I would walk calmly down the hallway carrying the final bag with her being pushed in the wheelchair by a third party and our child strapped in the carseat on her lap. Finally, I would pull the car around, we would load, and then….holy shit…I would have to drive…?

At this moment, I was 27 years old, and I had been driving for over 10 years. All of a sudden, I was quite sure that I wasn’t capable of walking a straight line let alone driving in any reasonable manner. It had never mattered before how I drove the car, or if someone else hit me. All of a sudden I felt that I would be an ant on the highway trying to avoid all of the giant drunk and maniacal drivers. I took a breath, avoided the temptation to curl myself into a ball in the corner, and we settled in for a power nap.

We woke up at 5:30 am.

Go time.

I sprinted to the cafeteria, spooned out four pounds of eggs, and ran back to the room. I immediately began cramming our belongings into suitcases. It was that moment that I saw them.

Flowers….balloons….I felt myself slowly detaching from my body.

The thing is you can’t pack flowers. You can’t just place a balloon in your suitcase. My first thought, “Leave them behind.” But suddenly these things had an emotional significance. These were HIS flowers — HIS balloons — HIS first belongings. At that moment, I decided I MUST get them all home — nothing was more important.

After considering the possibility of taking multiple smaller trips, I picked up all six vases and the balloons. If I couldn’t get them all in one trip I was obviously a complete fraud of a father and everything would be lost.

I made it to the elevator without breaking a sweat. Amazing, I’d been a father for less than 72 hours and I was already the best one. What threw me off was the elderly couple in wheelchairs who caught the door right as it was about to close. There was some confusion about which button led to the ground floor, and so they pushed them all Elf-style. I felt a bead of sweat run down my side. One of the balloons came loose from my grip and floated to the ceiling. It was the traditional “It’s a Boy!” balloon — the most important one of all. This balloon must not pop. I grabbed it with the crook of my arm and reeled it in with my teeth. My grip on the vases tightened.

Hours later, the elevator opened on the ground floor. I maneuvered my way around the couple and walked briskly towards our SUV.

It was a beautiful crisp day! I had forgotten what real air felt like in my lungs. Our SUV came into sight, and for one brief glorious moment, I thought it was all going to be okay. Victory was within my grasp.

I don’t remember exactly how it happened, but as I went to reach for my keys the “It’s a Boy!” balloon came loose. I lurched for it in a panic, dropping all of the flowers and spilling water all over my pants. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t lose this balloon. This balloon represented my son, my new life, my ability to take care of a family that I didn’t want to disappoint. Whatever it took, I knew I had to retrieve it. To my delight, the balloon became entangled in a small tree only ten feet away.

As I sprinted towards the beautiful heavenly glorious tree, a breeze came from behind and shook the balloon free. I lunged with everything I had inside of me and felt the tip of the string barely brush my fingertips, but it eluded me. I stood in silence watching the balloon float over the parking lot and into the city. My heart ached and my eyes started to well with tears. Less than three days as a dad, and I had already learned my first lesson…letting go.

Entire contents are copyright © 2020 by Jason Roseberry. All rights reserved.

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