November is for Owen

On November 6, 2008, Mike and I met on a semi-blind dinner date. But because this isn't a post about our story, I'm going to jump ahead to that same date in 2013 where we found ourselves at the same restaurant, nearly 2 years married, and 38 weeks pregnant. Turns out, our boy didn't want to wait for his induction date; my water broke during the middle of the night -- with our Owen Brion being born at 12:26 AM on November 8.

For those who don't know, Owen's middle name is after my father, John Brion. The first male born on the Houlihan side is traditionally given the first name John with the middle name of his parents' choosing; then, to possibly avoid some confusion, every other John is called by that chosen middle name. For example, my great-grandfather was John Charles (called Charlie); my grandfather, John Frances (called John); my dad, John Brion (called Brion); my brother, John Patrick (called John). Needless to say, it was a gift to use Brion.

My father told all of us many times that the only thing he prayed for when my mother was pregnant was for healthy children; whether they had a boy or girl wasn't on the list of things that were important to them.

I tried to remember that when I was pregnant, but secretly (and a bit fiercely) wished for a boy. The ever-present grief of losing a young parent, of plans for a future that was not to be, collided often with the life-changing miracle of carrying my first child. I wished so deeply to be able to put a finger on something that could connect my baby and my father, and I yearned for that to be the shared middle name of Brion. Something everlasting to give them both. Something that could, maybe, make up for a bit of what my baby would not have.

But just as this post isn't a tale of Mike and I, this space is also not about pain or loss. It is about life; the beginning of our Owen Brion, who symbolized joy, healing and overwhelming love the moment he was born.

Who has BEEN the greatest source of joy, healing and overwhelming love every day since.

So on that November 8 of 2013, dazed with exhaustion and outrageous love, our new family of 3 closed out Owen's birth day with a book given to us at our baby shower: On the Night You Were Born by Nancy Tillman. We read it 'together' with total giddy wonder (tinged with just a wisp of naivety that we knew what we were doing -- ha!)

Midway through that first read, a nurse came in and offered to take our photo; that heady mix of emotion and elation on Owen's 'first' birthday, in our first family photo, was captured perfectly.

That night, it felt like Tillman wrote On the Night You Were Born just for Owen. It just embodied what we seemed to know already:

”For never before, in story or rhyme,

(Not even once upon a time)

Has the world ever known a you, my friend,

And it never will, not ever again…”

And so, November is for Owen.

November reminds us of how fragile and miraculous the creation of a child is — no one is guaranteed an easy journey. Or a journey, for that matter. Owen IS the miracle we are most grateful for.

November reminds us that life could have gone another way after my father died; grief can try to tell you there’s nothing good left for you anymore. Owen is proof that beauty exists. And that it triumphs.

November reminds us that parenting is full of seasons, of moments that keep us on our toes, of worries that ebb in and out on a continuous loop. We’ve encountered curveballs over the years we never saw coming; but raising Owen is the persistent gift, challenges be damned.

November is truly for Owen.

Change is constant over the years, and none so much as in our children. It’s challenging for me to imagine a time in my life that won’t be like this, mothering a young child. I know it’ll come; but it’s not here yet. 

And even when it does — November will still be for Owen. Always.

Happiest 11th birthday to our Owen Brion; thank goodness our world finally knew a you.