Dear Jude:
I
first saw you just after nine o'clock on the Ides of December 2014. Your grandparents and your father waited all day long for you to be born. Your mother had a very hard time because you were so big you didn't want to come out.
Your father had been very nervous all day. He hadn't slept much the night before on the meager bed that hospitals give expecting fathers to try and sleep on. He wasn't eating much.
He came out to the waiting room of St. Josephs' Hospital to tell us that the doctors were going to operate on your mom, since you were too big to be born the natural way.
They took your mom down about 8 o'clock. Officially you were born at 8.53. I guessed 8:48 earlier in the day. So, I was pretty proud about that prognostication.
I had known that your father was going to be with your mom and he would be wearing blue hospital scrubs, but when he came out after you born, I didn't dawn on me that he wasn't the doctor.
He was so proud. It was almost like he was announcing a ball game. I'll tell you about that later. He was reciting your stats, 9 pounds 6.5 ounces, 22 inches long and when we could go back to see you and when your mom would wake up from the operation.
Your dad posted on Facebook later that it was the best day of his life. I was one of my best too.
You will be told this many times, but you were named for Paul McCartney's song, "Hey Jude."
On this first day of your life, it is my sincerest desire that for all of your life, I wish than when you hear or see a sad song, that you use all of your power, will and soul to make that sad song a better song.
So happy first birthday, Jude.
Love,
Gran
