Before Gavin was born, Craig and I agonized over what to name the baby we’d nicknamed Bean. We toyed with the idea of giving him a Latin name, as he’d been conceived in South America, but Diego Pardey just didn’t have the right ring. So it had to be something British, and not terribly common, and pronounced the same way in both Canadian and Australian. (Oh how my husband “Creg” has suffered.) I chose Gavin because it ticked all the boxes and I liked the meaning: white hawk. Craig agreed it was a great name, and since we were quite certain he was a boy, we didn’t even bother to discuss girls’ names.
We’ve always continued to call him Bean and Beanie, but somewhere along the line Craig started calling him the Gavinator. I can’t exactly remember when it started, but far before all this began. It now seems like a fated choice for this little man who keeps fighting, and fighting, and getting through all of the horrendous things he has to go through with his sunny nature intact. Craig changed his door sign at the hospital to “The Gavinator” and it caught on. Pretty soon, the doctors were using it in their reports, “The Gavinator is a 23-month-old boy who presented with a posterior fossa tumour…”
I’ve written a lot lately about trying to live in the moment. I’m trying every day, but today I’m taking a moment to express my gratitude to my beautiful son for being the incredible person he is. Happy and playful, bright, curious, and at times, willful. I’m blessed to have spent the last almost two years at home with him, teaching him, playing with him and caring for him. Not everyone has the chance to spend so much one-on-one time with their children and I know there are many who would envy our luck.
Gavin, I’m grateful for the lessons you’ve taught me, and the ones you continue to teach me. I’m grateful to be able to go on this journey with you, even though we have arrived in Holland and not Italy. I love you with every molecule of my body and all of my spirit. When I thought I was losing you in pregnancy, I saw your tiny heart beating away in ultrasound and I knew that you were a warrior. You haven’t given up, and I won’t give up on you. I’ve tried on many roles in this life of mine: bookworm, student, depressive, partier, traveller, teacher, wife. But it was you who made me a mother, and so I’ve found the person I was always meant to be.
I love you, I love you, I love you little man!