Space and time

There are two things that I have come to believe as a physics teacher:


One: time, like space, is a dimension. And even space isn't quite what we make it out to be. For example, advanced physical theories like string theory require (not posit, but require) the existence of 10 or more dimensions in order for them to hold weight. And because we only live in four of these dimensions, how will we ever know about the others? The truth of the matter is that we cannot know about the others, but we can simply have some trust that they exist.


Two: dimensions help us make reference to points, and those points are stationary. They are static, and they always exist. If you remember graphing in middle or high school, you know that the point (2, 4) is always there on every Cartesian coordinate plane. In 3-D space, (2, -1, 0) exists in every space. That means that every moment in time is a similar point, and those points in time exist always.


One of my favorite things to say is 'it is done in some future place and time'. I've come to think that all things are possible; they just happen in other versions of our world that exist in some other dimension, but in the same time.


I think about Emma all the time. I wonder what she is like; I wonder what joys and troubles she gives Shannon and me as parents. I wonder how she grows up, and how she does in school. I wonder what kind of young woman she becomes. I know that, somewhere in space and time (in many places in space and time), she exists, she grows up, and she lives, and Shannon and I get to find out all of those things we wonder about.


Just not here. Not in this place, and not in this time.


I remember August 10th, 2011 in fits and spurts. The day is a blur, a delirious collection of memories strung together in tatters, bonded by a glue of horror, grief, and sadness. How can anyone survive a day of loss and not have it all out of order by the end? I know I staggered out of the hospital to go get Shannon pizza; I know our nurses visited us about 50 times that day; I know we had several visitors. I don't remember when all those things happened, but I remember very clearly the space of time between 6:23 AM and 7:15 AM.


In that span of time, we met Emma as she came into the world, and we said goodbye. I told her how much we love her and how beautiful she is, and I kissed her on the forehead as we said goodbye to her.


That time was infinitely difficult, and it left an imprint on me that has followed me since. I feel so differently about so many things, and I feel so much...older. It's so hard to put into words how Emma's passing affected me, but I never really knew the magnitude of how until the moment we found out that Shannon is pregnant.


Elation, excitement, fear, trepidation, regret, remorse, doubt, denial, anticipation, wonder, happiness, celebration...I felt them all at once when Shannon showed me the faint blue line of a pregnancy test one day over April break. And that wave of emotions converged to leave one question echoing through my thoughts: am I ready for this?


I suppose it's an irrelevant question, because our next child, Emma's younger brother or sister, is here. He or she is growing, developing, and once again, exists in some future place and time. I have to be ready.


And that scares me to death.


So, I think that I'll mostly be writing about my challenges. How will I not be the paranoid 'don't-eat-this, don't-do-that' father-in-waiting? How am I going to deal with the frenetic array of emotions I felt in April as our due date nears? How on Earth will I deal with Shannon's dreams of twins? And, most importantly, will I be ready for December 22nd, or whenever our Muffin* arrives?


Crazy, crazy stuff. But, in some future place and time, the second Duvesque child comes into the world smoothly, and the Duvesque parents are healthy and sane.


Here's to hoping this is one of those times.