I have a weird thing with numbers sometimes, maybe it's an OCD thing but maybe it's something more.
  • I consider 7 my "lucky" number because I was born in 1977 and my grandpa always wore a 7 around his neck.
  • I always seem to count my steps to 8 and repeat when I'm walking and trying to zone out. 
  • One of the first gifts Husband gave me was an autographed photo of Kirk Gibson who was number 23 and we got married on the 23rd.
  • I think it's neat because unintentionally Casey's first name has 5 letters and his middle name has 7 while Christa's first name has 7 letters and her middle name has 5.
  • I also think it's neat that both my kids have birthdays full of even numbers: 8/24/2010 and 2/18/2014. Only 0, 1, 2, 4 and 8 there.
Eighteen has become a big number for me. My dad died seven months ago today, on the 18th. Christa was born four months ago today, on the 18th. I find that to be a very cosmic thing that she was born three months to the day that he died. I love the fact that they are forever connected by a number despite the fact that they never met. Sometimes I take comfort in the fact that he took his last breaths with his hand on my pregnant tummy and there's a part of me that truly believes he left his mark on her when he passed. I believe that he is the reason for Christa's peaceful demeanor.
When it came to deciding where I wanted to have Christa, I decided to go to the hospital where my dad died instead of the hospital where Casey was born. There's a belief in Judaism that 18 (chai in Hebrew) is a symbol of a long life. It felt like my responsibility to sort of balance out the loss of one life with the beginning of another at St. John's. I looked a bit further into symbolism of the number 18 and found that the ancient Romans used it to symbolize a blood relative. In Chinese tradition, 18 symbolizes prosperity. I like seeing such nice things connected to a number that has come to mean so very much to me. 
As is obvious, with father's day having just passed and the 18th rolling around, I have a heaviness in my heart so I'm trying to comfort myself with silly things like numerology. We got a call on Monday that my dad's ashes were being prepared to be sent out to sea soon on the USS Ronald Reagan. Since he never really had a proper burial or a funeral, there's a part of me that just hasn't had closure yet I guess. His memorial was beautiful but felt more like a party as opposed to a place to acknowledge our grief and loss. While there's really not a day that passes that I don't think about or miss him, things feel overwhelming right now so I guess I'll take whatever measures I can to cope so for now, eighteen it is.


Jessica said...

I love this. Long live 18.

Christine said...

D smiled for the first time ever the day your Dad died. I like to think he was listening to one of your Dad's jokes. Also I can't ever listen to Huey Lewis and the News or read Garfield without thinking about your Dad. He was a wonderful man and there's no doubt in my mind he's watching over you and your family right now. xoxoxo

Coodence said...

makes perfect sense to me, joseph.