Dear Max:

I was 18 weeks pregnant with you when the phone rang at 5:00 AM. I knew instantly who was on the phone and why they were calling. Your great grandfather, Earl Callaway, had died in the middle of the night. We all knew it was going to happen soon and yet it didn’t make hearing the news any easier. I hazily walked through my morning, wiped away my tears and went to work.

Around 2:00 in the afternoon I felt sharp, shooting pains rip through my lower abdomen. I knew it wasn’t labor pains, but I also knew something didn’t feel right. I went to the emergency room. The attending doctor rushed me into ultra-sound. As the technician began taking pictures I whispered, “I know you aren’t supposed to do this, but if you could tell me what the sex of my baby is I would be so grateful”. She was a petite, surly little thing and she curtly said “I’m not an OB-tech, only your doctor can tell you.” I sat quietly for a moment and than pleaded again “Pleease, I know we’re far enough along and my doctor’s appointment isn’t for another two weeks”. She was silent. I laid there still as she snapped photos of my kidneys, colon, lungs, etc. She silently finished and stood up. As she wiped away the cold ultra-sound jelly from my stomach she said; “I’m not an Ob-tech but it looks like a boy to me”, she turned and walked out of the room.

When the doctor returned he explained that I was carrying you very low and towards my back. As a result, you had done some rearranging of my organs including moving my kidneys under my lungs and squishing my colon. My colon, in an act of defiance began to spasm. There wasn’t anything he could do about it. It wasn’t dangerous and I was to go home and rest.

I’ve never forgotten that day. To have so much grief be met with so much joy. The miracle of knowing that Grandpa Callaway left this world in order to make room for you. He would have adored you. He would have loved your little Callaway laugh, and how you can be stubborn as a mule. The fact that at 3 years old you have an opinion and are not afraid to share it. That you have an enthusiasm for all things that is hard to match. He would have melted at how you wear your heart on your sleeve and that your hair is never brushed, your face never clean and your clothes rarely match. Grandpa Callaway knew that day, of all days, it was his time to go because it was your time to arrive.

I love you sweet boy. Happy Birthday.