tomorrow, the 14th of February, Truman Richard Kayne will be baptized at St. Peter's Church on the corner of 54th Street and Lexington Avenue in Manhattan. We'd like to extend an open invitation to all of you who have been so incredibly supportive of our family over the last year. Truman's baptism will be the very first part of the service, which begins at 11 AM and should end around 12:15, at which point the church offers a $6 brunch for anyone who might be interested.
Obviously, there's no pressure at all to attend, but we'd love to have you.
I'm not sure why the last post printed so strangely. If it's easier, donations can be made by contacting Joshua Edwin at joe9020@nyp.org or at 212.342.0933.
Thanks again, and sorry for the sudden burst in posting.
Many of you have been so kind as to ask for a place to donate to in Fisher's honor. Below is a form you can print to donate to the NICU at Columbia-Presbyterian along with contact information for the point person there. Money we donate will go toward buying vital supplies and equipment for the NICU. Thanks again.
Donation Form
Gifts in Memory of Fisher Daniel Kayne
Donor Information
Donor First Name: ____________________Donor Last Name:____________________
Company (if corporate gift): _______________________________________________
As expected, the blogging has been neglected in the first month of having Truman home. I'll try to recap the events of the past month or so, but I'll indubitably leave things out. Lack of sleep, not surprisingly, makes the memory foggy. So, in no particular order:
C's family (mom, dad, sister, brother-in-law and our two nieces) came for Christmas. We drove to my parents' home for Christmas day and went to a local church on Christmas Eve. The nurses from the NICU study arranged for us to have a large family counseling session with Dr. Welch (the head of the Nuture study). We discussed, among many topics, the importance of having family contact and support, possible speedbumps that we may encounter as we raise Truman, and how Dr. Welch thought we might best discuss Fisher's brief life with Truman. I found her answer to the last question to be very interesting. Dr. Welch suggested that we never hide our memories and photographs of Fisher. When Turman starts to ask questions about where Fisher is, we should be truthful but also give him an opportunity to form his own opinions. "Where do you think Fisher is, Truman?" Instead of foisting our adult grief and understanding onto him, we might let him come to his own understanding. We had toyed with the idea of telling Truman that he had a brother who spent his life looking over us, telling him that Fisher gave everything to keep Truman healthy. Dr. Welch cautioned that such an approach might make Truman feel guilty or responsible.
We spent New Year's Eve and a few subsequent afternoons and evenings with our apartment building's "Baby Brigade". We're officially old people now, hanging out with married parents. The rest of the Brigade is pretty cool, but passing the bottle of breastmilk during the football game is a clear sign that infants have assumed utter control of our daily lives.
Truman is awesome. He's essentially the emperor of all he surveys. His current hobbies are eating, pooping and scream-crying. He also dabbles in sleeping. I tried once to let him "cry it out" without picking him up. In his very direct manner of communicating, he demonstrated that he has several different decibel levels of crying and, should I prefer not to be exposed to all of them, that I should comfort him immediately. Message received.
Truman changes daily. I had heard that before, but it's pretty astounding to watch it happen. He now follows us with his eyes. He likes to play while lying on his back. It's crazy.
According to baby pictures of me, Truman looks exactly like I did when I was his age. At first I found this realization oddly flattering, as if he selected my genes while he was deciding to be born. But now it's more like I've traveled back in time to look at myself as a baby, i.e. bizarre. I (big Back to the Future fan) keep thinking that there will be a tear in the space-time continuum every time I hold him.
It's very possible that this will be the last entry on this blog. At some point, it went from a way to keep our friends and family informed to a way for me to keep myself sane. Having learned the therapeutic effects of writing, I may continue to blog somewhere else, but this chapter feels ready to close. Still, C and I read it over and over again in our hearts. We miss and love you, Fisher.
Thanks for your concern and generosity, both of which we continue to feel. It is our great fortune to feel so loved.
