The hospital in Big Bear felt closed. Like we’d snuck into a large department store after hours—lights dimmed, hallways mostly quiet. The hospital was on strike, but Camron was ready for life, and we were ready for Camron.
So there we were—me, Mom, Dad—holding Tom’s firstborn, the first one we met at the very beginning. Sherry came into our lives with four kids already mid-story, and I don’t think we understood yet that they were ours to love.
We must have looked trustworthy that night. Or at least well-intentioned. Because there we were, holding a shiny, brand-new human in a darkened corner of a hallway. Left to stare. And wonder.
Knowing him now, I think we could have dropped Camron on the linoleum floor, and he would have walked it off—but he had a whole larger-than-life, lionhearted, adrenaline-fueled adventure ahead of him, so it’s best we didn’t.
Camron wasn’t just a beautiful new baby. He was a prism—when the light hit him just right, all rainbowy, we saw what our family could be. What our family now was. We fell in love that day. The three of us. With all of them.
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