From the publisher's desk: “K” is for Kaleidoscope

Dear K., it is nearly midnight, but I can’t sleep. I am wide-awake thinking about tomorrow being the day that I’ve been expecting to see you. I understand if you are late since I’m sure you’re quite content and comfortable where you’re at now.

In February your parents told me to prepare for your arrival October 26. As the date grew nearer, the more nervous energy I’ve had. In the past few weeks I’ve filled the freezer with soups I’ve made and bread I’ve baked to take up to Salem. I know you won’t have an appetite for these things, but I’m thinking more about the rest of the family and the visitors who will be coming to see you.

I’ve been contemplating what I should say to you when we finally meet. I know it doesn’t really matter much to you since you probably won’t remember our first meeting. But for me it’s important that I choose my words carefully and set the tone for our future relationship. I know I will tell you that you are beautiful and that I love you now and will always love you, more than you can imagine, no matter what.

In the years ahead, you can trust me to keep your secrets, share your joys and protect you. You can borrow my lipstick, try on my shoes and take the pearls out of my jewelry box and wrap them around your neck whenever you like! I promise to take lots of pictures of you and place them on the mantle, on the refrigerator, on my desk and email them to all my friends.

K., your parents will not tell me what your initial stands for. They want to surprise everyone with your name. I have decided K must be for “Kaleidoscope,” a brilliant reflection of ever-changing light and color.

My dear first grandchild, I am waiting for you with more emotion and anticipation than I remember having even when I was waiting for your father. His older brothers, your uncles Collin and Matt, were born 10 weeks prematurely, and so it was a different kind of waiting with them. I waited anxiously for many weeks to know if they would survive. I waited three months to bring them home.

Your dad’s birth was very different. He was born at a midwife’s home, a quaint little blue-gray house on a quiet street in Grants Pass. Some day I’ll take you there. The bedroom had lace curtains and antique furniture. That’s about all I remember about the room since I wasn’t there long. He arrived just 15 minutes after I got there!  Two hours later I was home calling your great-grandmother Rose to tell her “it’s a boy.” You see, back then we didn’t know the sex of our babies in advance. Nor did we have cell phones or text messaging to spread the news instantly.

So, when will I see you, precious K.? Tomorrow? The next day? Your mother will tell you that I’ve been sending you trinkets for the past several months, but for your birth I have something very special. It’s a small glass kaleidoscope that my friend Mary gave me years ago. When you look into it, you will see endless light and possibilities. That is what I see when I close my eyes and imagine you. I can’t think of a better gift. 

Reach Michele Thomas, The Daily Triplicate’s publisher, at 464-2141, or stop by 9 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. weekdays.