I moved here in 94, got married in 95, and the kiddos started dropping in 2001. Our first child, Andrew, was born at 32 weeks, too weak to breath on his own. He spent a week on a ventilator, we spent Christmas at home with him in the NICU, and finally after 6 weeks we brought him home. Turns out the reason he came early is he has a rare chromosomal disorder. The premature birth/NICU stay were just the beginning. My wife has worked tirelessly since then to make sure he gets what he needs, and it's far from easy. He's 15, cannot speak, has limited self help skills, isn't potty trained, and does not travel well at all. He is sweet and when he's happy its warm-the-soul infectious. Meanwhile we've had 2 other typical kids, and my wife has gone to great lengths to ensure that their childhoods are as rich with experience as possible, and not limited because w have to spend so much time attending on big brother.
Which brings us to the past year. Her dad is a sweet guy, but started showing some worrisome signs. We took him to be tested, the psychologist said pre-dementia. That was June 2016. By November he deteriorated so badly we moved him in with us. I watched her take him to appointment after appointment, with him resisting all the while protesting "there's nothing wrong with me". So for almost a year now she's run this household, with precious little help from her siblings and the cracks would sometimes show. So in July I planned a short getaway to Colorado for early November.
My wife is a Ranger fan (she can't help it, she was born in Fort Worth). But most of her extended family is from Houston and she is a Texan first and foremost (one of her ancestors got a land grant from the Mexican government) and she pulls for all Texas teams (except the spurs, or only in special circumstances). So as the playoffs started she dutifully rooted for the Astros, albeit from a distance. The ALDS fell on the weekend of her family annual family reunion held in Surfside. She sent me down early so I could watch game 2, which I did from the Crawford Boxes, taking in my very first Astros playoff game in person. As the playoffs went on, she was more and more invested, to the point she couldn't watch the games because the tension was too high. When we won the pennant, she gave the go ahead for me to go to a WS game. Between work and Cub Scout duties, the only game that worked was Game 5. So a buddy and I banged out our work duties early Sunday, drove down 45 and took in game 5. Game 5! Are you kidding me? I got to see that wonderful/ horrible/ amazing/ appalling masterpiece in person. We got back home around 0500.
Which brings us to 6 and 7. As I mentioned, she and I were heading to Colorado. So my parents came in to babysit the kids and watch over her father. How great would it have been to watch them clinch it with my dad, who took me to my first Astros game in 1981? Alas, all good things must wait. So yesterday of we go to the airport, me in my orange Altuve Jersey and cap. Well wishes here and there. Now the first trip we made by plane to Colorado was on oiur honeymoon. That was June 1995, and we watched the Rockets take games 1 and 2. Even wrote Go Rockets in a snowbank on the highway near Ouray. We rented a Camry way back then, and this time the lady at the rental place gave us a free upgrade sent us down the aisle to pick one , i spied a Camry and said "This is it." may be a good time to point out I was wearing the exact same jeans/ Astros T shirt/ jersey/ cap I wore to game 5. I'm not superstitious, you are.
We got some things done in Denver and headed west. Got to the place in time to grab some Fritos and chili for pregame meal. Let me just say, going from 700 feet elevation to 9100 feet and watching Game 7 of the freaking World Series with your favorite team involved will get your heart pounding and racing. And if a certain CF happens to blast a ball into the stands, you'll probably come close to passing out after jumping up and yelling.
Fast forward to the 9th. My wife watched/ didn't watch the whole game. She didn't feel good. She was queasy, her heart was racing. She busied herself rearranging things that didn't need it. When Altuve tossed the ball to Yuli and I was screaming she appeared by my side. As the mob formed on the infield, she burst into tears. We hugged, whooped and hollered. Spent the rest of the night soaking it in. After a while she observed she was feeling a lot better and was even hungry. The whole point is the trip was to get her away for a short while, and this wonderful, cathartic event happens.
So anyway that's my 2017 Astros story. Special for a thousand reasons.
God bless the Houston Astros.
Good bless Orange Whoopass.
And God bless my wife. I could not have done better.
