Friday, October 05, 2007


An October Moment...

Over the course of this summer, as our wonderful little Éclair began to take more notice of the world around her, Her Lovely Self started telling me about a strange habit of the baby's. Whenever she awoke for a late-night feeding, her eyes were nearly always directed to a spot in the corner of our bedroom, near the crib. When she did this, she wasn't exhibiting the glazed-over look of a baby who toked out on breast milk either; she was staring fixedly, with intent, at an empty corner of our bedroom.

(If you care to, you can see the corner in question in this post. Second picture down. It's the corner obscured by a curtain. Incidentally, right about the time the Éclair started paying unusual attention to that spot, Blaze abruptly took up guard duties in the hall, just outside the bedroom door.)

As she got older and gained more head control, she'd often swivel herself toward the corner. When she began smiling, one of her first gummy grins for that corner.

Later on, we set up the crib and moved her into her own room. One night, I heard her crying and got up to comfort her. She was in her cooing phase so she gooed with real delight to see me.

But as soon as I pulled her out of the crib and sat on a twin bed that's also in the room, she pointedly turned her head to the closet, her eyebrows waggling in that adorable way she has whenever she sees something really interesting. She made cooing and gooing noises at that closet for the better part of an hour, completely oblivious to me. Eventually, she drifted back off to sleep.

I gently laid her in the crib and, heart pounding, edged toward the darkened closet. I experimentally put out a hand, hoping to feel something: a cold spot, a presence, some sense of something--someone--standing there.

I couldn't feel a thing.

The baby still has a habit of gazing with rapt attention at the most unlikely empty spaces--now she laughs as well as smiles when she looks. I honestly don't remember Thomas or the Brownie ever doing this. It was a little disquieting at first, but I guess it's harmless enough. After all, whatever it is she's looking at, it sure makes her happy.

I wish I could see what she sees.

From Somewhere on the Masthead

I have read back through your other October Moments and loved them! This one is great too. My own son recently did something like this with my mother. He was spending the night with her and she was giving him a bath. She told me that he kept looking past her into the empty hallway and grinning and babbling, then said something that sounded like "Da!" Mum said that he was so intent on the spot, she turned to look, even though she knew no one was there (she lives alone).
Da was the name we used for my grandfather, her dad. He passed away 15 years ago and obviously, my 2 year old would never have met him. It made my mum happy to think that just maybe, her dad was there checking things over. Since I tend to think that small children and some adults have the power to see these things, I'll go along with it too.
It's better than "harmless enough," I think.

When Myrt was 18 months old, a great-grandfather who loved her very much took a spill off his porch after saying goodbye to us. We drove home to South Bend without realizing this had happened.

One afternoon a couple of days after returning home, Myrt fixed her gaze to a spot on the living room ceiling, babbling and cooing in recognition of ... apparently nothing. That evening, my mother in-law phoned, saying her father had passed away.

I said, "Around 2:30 this afternoon?"

"How did you know?"

"He stopped by to say goodbye to Myrt."

Myrt's 22 now, and still highly intuitive. She predicted the return of my friend's cat, after the cat had been missing six weeks. She told us that she saw that the cat had wandered over to an apartment complex -- "the larger one, not the smaller one" -- and an elderly couple had been feeding him.

I was only mildly surprised when my friend confirmed there were two apartment complexes on her street -- a large one and a small one. I was less surprised when the cat came sauntering home a couple of weeks later, unscathed and plumper than ever.

By the way, my friend with the cat lives 420 miles away from us, and neither Myrt nor I had ever visited their neighborhood.

Wouldn't it be nice if we would all keep the channels open?
I wish you could see it too.
Oh Sharfa. And MM. I can feel the ache in your words.

I wish you both comfort.
You're pulling my heartstrings like a marionette here...

I wish you could see, too.
me too either...lovely story MM.
My mother has been gone for 2 years. I've searched for a sign from her. In vain, I might add.

Good fortune has graced my family since she's been gone. Miraculously avoiding a serious wreck. An unwed young girl selecting my brother and his wife to adopt her baby. Selling a house in a difficult market before it was even officially on the market.

I believe. Maybe I'll be lucky some day. Maybe she'll show me a sign.
I know what I hope she's seeing; I'm so glad she's doing well.
I cried at the end of this post. I have been an emotional wreck of late. The thought of her seeing your mother and father is so comforting to me. So beautiful, and frankly so real. As in doubt about it.
You know they will always be close by; don't be surprised if your "October moments" continue to happen year-round now.


Thim :)
Awww, Eclaire has her own little imaginary friend.
They say some animals and very young children sense and see those that we do not and I believe it. My son used to goo and smile gummily up at the ceiling during diaper changes on the hanging where else would this happen. I used to whisper to him 'Are you seeing your angels up there? Are they blowing you kisses?...". I wished I could see what he did too.
I think Eclair is a very lucky little darling to have such a wonderful family and such joy inspiring visitors.
Usually, I'm disappointed when you don't write for ten days. However, having just returned from vacation, I'm glad to see I haven't missed anything during my absence.

Now, get back to entertaining us, damn it!
Post a Comment

<< Home

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?