It' s not the specifics like the meal and desserts that Frank prepared or even the intricacies of our visit with Dr. Sleepy that stand out about meeting Chance and Apollo for the first time. There are hundred play-by-play details that I could tell you about my first "Chance" encounter. In the end, the little things are not what stand out.
What does stand out are two things. One is the sum of those parts which results in a feeling that can only be described as synergy -- from the moment they pulled up in my driveway, there was an immediate confirmation of the chemistry we felt from a thousand miles away. Everything just feels so right. We fell into easy conversation and there weren' t any uncomfortable lulls. I didn' t expect that there would be; we' ve been talking through our webcams since we first "met" online in March. Going from cam-to-cam to face-to-face didn' t seem like much of a stretch.
What I did worry a little about was immersion in el Cinco. I knew that being here in this house of many children was a challenge to face and hopefully overcome for Chance and Apollo. Infertility and loss can make being around a child daunting. And here - they' re everywhere. At once. They buzz around like hyper little bees and it' s almost impossible to not either hear or see any less than two of them at a time. I didn' t worry much about the emotional impact of the oldest four. It was Kaelyn, with her just-past-baby, barely three-year-old cuteness that concerned me a bit. The other thing that stood out (at least to me), ended up being a Kaelyn moment.
Kaelyn is not one who quickly warms up to strangers. She typically hides behind legs and around corners, sizing people up from a distance before she decides that new company is worth her smiles and conversation. Chance and Apollo were barely through the door before she grabbed their hands and led them to the kitchen table where she had been coloring. "You sit here," she said to Chance as she indicated a seat to her right. "And you sit here," directing Apollo into a seat to her left. "Here, Chance. You can use the pink crayon. Color this part right here. You can use this blue one, Apollo. Color that page." As they sat there rubbing impossible colors onto black and white pages, I was struck with the thought that under better circumstances, a similar scene could have been, should have been a part of Chance' s and Apollo' s past and present. I prayed right then and there that what I was looking at was a glimpse into their future.
Things feel too right for this to end wrong. None of us think much further past the goodness of the here and now; that way, there' s little time to dwell on the what ifs.
It is real. It is surreal. We' ve spent hours together sharing laughter and good company, yet there is still an element of disbelief. I' m not sure that it has completely sunk in yet for either of us. Even with morning needles and scheduled RE appointments, there is still an element of incredulity. It is a welcome incredulity - the type where there is understanding of the possibility for miracles to happen. Like I said before - we don' t dwell on the alternative for too long.
Just knowing that we' re on the precipice of 2009, the year that could be the one which colors Chance' s and Apollo' s lives, well...that' s enough for us. For now.