When I woke on the morning of March 27 2014 I knew it was a special day. On this day 18 years ago my youngest child Aviva was born.
There were 17 medical professionals present when Aviva entered this world weighing one pound and ten ounces. She did not utter a cry like most babies do; in fact she made no sound at all. It would be months until a sound emanated from her.
Aviva was whisked immediately to the NICU. She remained there for more than three months within the bubble of an incubator where she struggled to live and survive. With few exceptions she was not held by human hands for the first eight weeks of her life.
But thrive she did.
Aviva was given a less-than-two-percent chance of survival at birth and I was warned by the doctors not to bond too intensely with her (which of course I ignored) as statistically the future looked dire.
Aviva beat the odds and survived. Fifteen weeks later — exactly on what was supposed to have been her due day — she was discharged from the hospital.
And on this day she was turning 18.
This day wouldn’t begin with a party however. Rather it began with the mundane task of taking Aviva to the doctor to have her cast removed the result of a Rollerblading accident.
The receptionist first asked “Is your insurance the same? Do you still live at such-and-such street?” Then after looking at our file for a moment more the receptionist looked up and said to Aviva “I see you’re now 18. This means you’re a legal adult. So I have to inform you that according to the law it’s now illegal for us to discuss your medical information with anyone even your parents without your prior consent. Here’s a form for you to fill out. If you agree to it then sign it. It gives us permission to discuss your case with your parents.”
As I looked at my daughter’s proud smile at her newfound sense of maturity and power I knew I’d reached a new reality in my life.
The roles were slowly reversing. No longer Aviva would need to ask permission of me at least in this area; I had to ask permission of her. My little girl was no longer the fragile preemie upon whom I’d doted; she was now an adult.
I was filled with dueling emotions.
On one hand I was proud and excited almost unable to believe that my “little Aviva” was now a mature young woman being entrusted with making her own decisions.
Yet concurrently I felt the humbling recognition of my own mortality and my own limitations.
Aviva was no longer a dependent child assigned to me to protect and shelter and to decide what I thought was best for her. She was becoming a responsible and accountable adult; this sudden reality was a difficult pill for her loving and protective father to swallow.
After so many years of being her provider Aviva was now the one making the choice to allow me to continue to be a part of her life.
Aviva laughed at her newfound authority and signed the paper.
I looked at Aviva and saw a budding responsible young adult. I then looked into myself and the only words that came to mind were those of Shlomo Hamelech in Koheles 1:4: “A generation goes and a generation comes but the Earth
endures forever.”