Lost Like Us

(At the request of my close friends Jeff and Susette, I wrote the following brief message to their as yet unborn daughter to be read during labor and delivery.)

Dear new one yet to appear in our world,

A phrase my grandfather, Lenny, and his daughter, my mama, used to repeat often: "If you ain't never been lost, you ain't never been far." Well, I suppose that being born is kinda like getting lost in the biggest and baddest way possible. I mean, that womb you've been in for these last nine months must be so very comforting, in its warm quiet undulating dark wetness. And who would want to leave that, right? Well, little one who has yet to appear, I can't say I blame you for feeling that way. I know I did. Let me just reassure you, though, with all the assurance that I can muster from thousands of miles and an unknown number of hours away, that there are some redeeming aspects to life on this side of the great divide. Getting to know what I mean means, probably, getting really confused and lost and all tangled up in the complications of the lives of the many people you'll meet hereabouts. It's worth it. I promise you. And if you later decide I'm wrong, the worst you can say is that I was a fool and you were simple enough to believe me. But I know something that you have yet to discover: that a lot of the people I've met since I broke out (or was expelled, I'm not sure which) have really come to have a terrific importance to me in my life. They've been lost with me, sure, but there was something about being lost with other people I've loved in my life, like your mama Susette and your daddy Jeff, and my own mama and daddy, too, that made the experience of feeling lost in the world so much more bearable. It's like we were a lot of bad cooks spoiling the soup, but we had some fun times doing it. We broke eggs and made omelettes and left the shells on the floor, and you'd think we would have been exhausted by the very effort. But we've actually enjoyed eating our own concoctions together, whenever we had a chance to do so. I can even say none of us would probably have preferred leaving those eggs unbroken, that soup uncooked or unspoilt, or even that womb unbreached. So here we are, waiting for you now, together, even if we're not all in the room at the very moment you emerge (I think your mama and daddy need the other cooks to step away from the range at the very moment when the souffle is being carefully lifted out!). We're all waiting for you, though, you can rest assured of that. We know it's going to be a big struggle for you, especially in those first days. How disorienting those first moments! And we know you'll get just as lost as the rest of us. And we think that's okay — even grand! We're waiting for you now, we're counting on you, and we know you're counting on us. And we'll be here for you when you emerge, and for as long as we can be afterwards. You are loved, you who are yet to emerge, and we think you'll get to know a little more about what that means over time, as you're experiencing your lostness, so very much like ours.

One last thing: in the Jewish tradition, newborn infants are said to possess all the learning of the Talmud, which they then forget as they grow up. It's a big loss, I know. But finding your way to your own wisdom, or lostness, is worth the effort.

Love, love, love from your "uncle" Lincoln.