Hovering
by Jennifer Graf Groneberg

I’d like to tell you a story about the book’s cover.

My friend Nicole is a professional photographer and she met us one day at the park by the lake, where we were doing Avery’s physical therapy. We sometimes had therapy there when the weather was nice, and Wendy, our therapist, would help Avery learn about the playground toys—how to manage his body up the stairs; how to balance across the wobbly bridge. And at the end of this hard work there was a natural reward: the slide, which he loved.

On the days we had physical therapy at the park, I’d bring Avery’s brothers, too–his fraternal twin Bennett, and Carter, older by 4 years. So that was the cast of characters: me, Nicole the photographer, Wendy the physical therapist, and the kids.

It was a beautiful autumn morning, clear and crisp and clean; seagulls riding the thermals across the bay, a pair of eagles nesting high in a giant, old cottonwood along the shore. The leaves had begun to turn, but there was still enough warmth in the sunlight that we didn’t need hats or gloves.

Nicole was taking pictures of the children to share with grandparents who live far away. She’d promised not to take any pictures of me, because I’m terribly, ridiculously camera-shy. Wendy, too, didn’t want to be in the photos (she feels the same way I do about cameras). It was just supposed to be the kids.

Wendy helped Avery, and I ran around from him to Bennett to Carter, and Nicole managed to take some photographs (“Your kids are fast!” she said. “Good thing I had my coffee this morning.”) The day went pretty much like any other therapy day at the park, until we reached the end. When it was over, and we began dusting off sandy hands and zipping up coats, Avery decided it was time to walk.

We’d been waiting and waiting, watching and hoping. I’d even had his legs examined by an orthopedic surgeon. There was no reason he couldn’t walk; he just preferred not to. Instead, he’d scoot about on his bottom, or lift his arms into the air, expecting to be carried. Each time I fretted about it, Wendy would pat my hand and say, “He’ll walk when he’s ready. It will happen in his own time.”

Her words became my mantra, an 8-syllable prayer, equal parts question and answer: When he’s ready. In his own time.

Which happened to be that very day at the park. He stood and straightened himself. In his left hand, he held a branch of beautiful, brightly-colored leaves. He took a step, then another. One, after the other. Again and again. He carried the branch all the while, until he brought it to me.

Nicole was there, quietly clicking away. Her photograph is my record of that moment.

We didn’t know, then, that there would be a book, or that the image she captured would become the cover. But I’m happy and proud that each of these things came true: Road Map to Holland, Nicole’s photo on the cover, and Avery, walking into my arms.

This entry was posted on Saturday, March 29th, 2008 at 8:28 am and is filed under Backstories, Books. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.