Kindness

I don't think I'll ever forget the look on his face. He just sat there on the couch across the living room from me, his chin resting in the palms of his hands, his eyes scanning the floor. He said nothing.

After several long minutes, he simply stood up, and began to walk to the front door. "I'm so sorry," he said, "I just don't know what to say."

"Neither do I," I said. "I don't think there is anything you can say. But you came."

He came. My dad had died the day before, and this 17-year-old friend of mine felt moved to come sit silently in our living room. He wanted to help in any way he could, and presence was all he had to offer. It was one of the many times in my life that I've experienced genuine kindness.

Our boys are all home now. In fact, we are already in our second week of new rhythms, new sounds, and sleepless nights. The girls are adjusting well - probably a bit more quickly even than we are.

And I find myself holding a bottle at 1:30 in the morning, gazing down at the little knit caps and closed eyes, and wondering if maybe this time we've been blessed too much. Integrating triplets with three other children is as difficult as you think it would be, and then some. It takes all of my energy to be in all of the places that I need to be, doing all of the things that I need to do. And that's before the crying starts - just after the lights go out.

I've caught myself wondering if we really do have the energy to do this. If maybe this time, we have been given more than we can handle. If maybe this is a father's post-partem.

And then another in a long line of selfless people offers to help. Sincerely, and in any way they can. And then another. And then another. Like the friend on my couch, they say very little and ask nothing in return. They are, simply, very kind.

This week we began letting them into our lives, helping feed the boys, providing food to make dinner preparation easier, driving the girls to ballet. I always offer them the same line: we stopped being proud a month ago.

We didn't, of course. We still haven't. And letting people in when you are accustomed to thinking you can do everything yourself is not easy.

Like the friend on my couch, I just don't know what to say.

We are humbled, and deeply grateful.