When is my Forever by Aileen Friedman - HTML preview

 

 

 

 

 

36.

 

Egan listened as I explained through my tears and a lump in my throat so large that it was almost impossible to form a word, my account of the birth and death that I had witnessed within minutes of each other. I could hear the pain in his voice and see the tears and the concern on his face through my laptop screen. The guilt of not being there with me was so evident, expressed by every word he uttered.

‘Soon we will be together and we will start our forever. It can’t be long now,’ he repeated over and over again, finally convincing me that the worst was behind me.

I was back in the dreadful hospital with the memories of the previous day still so fresh in my mind. I stared at the baby sleeping peacefully in the incubator, trying with all her might to gain the correct weight, with the help of medication, to survive, trying with all her might to win me over. Josie reached through the armholes and stroked her legs. They twitched. They looked like sticks peaking out of the diaper – which was miles too big for her. It looked like extra skin had been wrapped untidily over her bones, and with each touch of Josie’s hands the little legs stretched out straight into the air, her tiny feet pointing toward the top of the incubator. She was so small; she looked like a little toy stuck in the middle of the sheet for decorative purposes, until you noticed the pipes and tubes leading from her to the machines next to her.

‘Touch her Vanda,’ Josie said, trying to encourage me to put my arm through the peephole.

‘No,’ I replied defiantly, and moved backwards.

At the mere thought of holding her I went into panic mode.

How will I ever cope?

Dr Preston walked into the room with another doctor, a woman.

‘Good morning ladies, this here is Dr Reddick, she is taking great care of this little lady here,’ he said as he looked over at the baby, a smile on his face.

We introduced ourselves and shook hands and while De Reddick examined the baby, Dr Preston, caring as always, inquired as to how I was doing. All I did was shrug my shoulders. If I uttered a word I knew I would burst out crying, my eyes were already welling up with unwanted tears.

He placed a hand on my arm and said, ‘She is beautiful and she will be fine. All she needs is your love to get strong.’

I simply could not hear those words, it gave fuel to the anger I was trying so hard to control within me.

‘Then her mother should have lived.’

Then I ran out of the room. I wanted to scream at anything and anyone. I wanted to hit the walls and throw the trolleys at anything within throwing distance. I wanted to cry, I wanted to pull my hair out. I was so angry. I wanted to curse the world.

I reached my car, got inside and slammed the door shut, finally letting out the screams fighting to be released. Curses spilled from my lips, and I let out one after the other until I had no more air in my lungs. Then I relented to sobbing; huge blubbering sobs, uncontrolled sobs, wracking sobs, pouring out all my anguish, pain and confusion.

Why? Why? Why?

I held onto the steering wheel thinking that maybe I could just start the car and ride away and never turn back. But I knew I could not do that. I knew that somehow I had to search for the composure to walk back into that ward, and look at the baby that looked so much like Dena.

Josie slid into the passenger seat and without saying a word she held me, her tears mingling with mine, sharing my pain, sharing my heartache, sharing my fears.

‘When you’re ready come back inside and speak to Dr Reddick. She is very helpful but only come when you’re ready.’

‘Please stay with me, I can’t go back in there alone.’

‘I’m not going anywhere where you are not. We should first go to the bathroom though and wash our faces methinks.’

She smiled through her own tearstained face and I could not help but smile back.

Dr Reddick was staring at an x-ray placed against a lit screen. She turned around when she heard us approaching and smiled, gesturing for us to sit in the chairs near her desk. She was elderly and friendly, clearly very experienced in her field, and when she spoke her voice was uncharacteristically gruff. I was taken aback for just an instant as with her soft features I’d expected a sweeter voice. Still, though it was gruff it was filled with concern and gentleness. We spoke for several minutes about what was expected of the baby and of me, and what the procedures would be for the next few days. I heard but did not listen, still too emotionally drained and her words just bounced off my brain. She would simply have to repeat it all to me another time. We stood up and walked over to the incubator again. She opened the lid and took the baby out, handing her to me. I couldn’t and stepped back instinctively, a look of utter horror on my face.

‘That’s okay, you need not be afraid. Take your time.’

Josie took the baby, it was so natural to her. The tiny human lay in her arms and squirmed a little, then cried for a short time. The cry was so young, so immature, and so new.

After a week of the same routine every day – get up, go to the hospital for an hour or so, listen to what the doctors have to say, come home and do it again in the afternoon and the evening – I was exhausted, even though I did not do much. In between this routine the funeral for Dena was arranged by Minister Wade and was held at the funeral home. A handful of people attended, as expected. The service was short, simple and to the point. There was no point elaborating on someone no one knew well. I could not find the energy to shed a tear but rather, was relieved when it was over. I thought I would be angry again but relief overshadowed the anger instead.

On a rainy, very cold winter’s morning, Josie and I left for the hospital, both dressed warmly in boots, jeans, polo neck jerseys, and thick wool-lined jackets. Our surprise awaited us in the ward when we saw the baby in a cot, dressed in a pink babygrow without any pipes or machines attached to her. She lay there happily chewing her hands, a pretty pink colour to her cheeks. She looked as though she had doubled in weight overnight. Dr Reddick smiled at our expressions.

‘We wanted to surprise you. She can go home tomorrow, provided she has another stable night tonight.’

Josie giggled with glee and rushed over to pick her up. I just smiled or rather attempted a smile. Up until now I had not had to take any responsibility for her, as the medical staff and Josie had done everything. But now it would mean I would have to take care of her. And I did not want that. Josie tried once more to give the baby to me but once more I back-pedalled, making the excuse that I would hold her once she was at home.

I knew I was only prolonging the inevitable.

Egan was so excited the she was finally coming home and he could finally get to see her. I found it so difficult to share in his excitement when I hadn’t even held her yet.

‘Don’t worry love, when you do it will be perfect.’

I wondered how he could be so confident. I certainly wasn’t.

All night I wrestled with dreams of dropping her, burning her with bath water that was too hot or with her milk that was too hot, that she would hate me for not wanting her. It moved me to the point of waking up in a cold sweat, my heart pounding, and finally I got down on my knees and cried while I prayed more seriously than ever before. I had to give all my fears and worries to God. I had to ask Him to please take them away from me to help me be a mother to this child. To accept what was laid down before me and to allow Him to guide me. I had to do His will and not mine.

Josie and I packed a small bag with a pretty pink outfit for her to come home in, and diapers and formula just in case. As it was so cold we also packed a beanie and a thick warm blanket.

‘Jeepers she is so small and yet she has so much luggage,’ I uttered matter-of-factly.

It was a Saturday, and much to Marco’s delight he was able to come along to bring her home. We set off in the pouring rain, a car-seat already installed in the car.

Arriving at the hospital’s paediatric ward, we were greeted by the entire medical staff that had been involved in taking care of her since the birth. Her cot was smiling with pink balloons and the teddy bears she had received from so many kind and caring people. Once Josie had her dressed in her pretty pink outfit, many photos had been snapped and all the gifts, flowers and balloons had been taken to the car, we were ready to leave. I felt my heart begin to thump with anxiety and silently took a deep breath and said a quick prayer. I was grateful for God’s quick response as I felt myself relish the calm flowing over me. It was a dash to the car from the hospital as the rain pelted down with more force than when we had arrived. Marco drove slowly and ever so cautiously all the way home.

Josie put the baby in the cot as she’d slept through all the excitement, and while we both watched her sleeping, Marco carried everything in from the car, then joined us in watching her.

He put his arms around us both, ‘She is beautiful Vanda, you are going to love her you’ll see I’m right, just don’t be scared. We are here always.’

I patted his hand. ‘I know.’

‘She needs a name hey,’ he said, lifting her petit little hand into his large manly fingers.

I swallowed.

‘The other night I couldn’t sleep and that she did not yet have a name was bugging me. I started searching for Irish names on Google and came across Keela which means “a beauty only poetry can capture” – and I thought of her and of how beautiful she is, just like a poem. Her second name is Josiegan, a combination of Josie and Egan.’

Marco and Josie were silent but I could see the tears trickling from Josie’s eyes and I could sense the emotions stirring in Marco. We all stood mesmerised by the beautiful baby girl sleeping peacefully and contently before us.

‘Keela,’ Marco choked out softly.

37.

 

Egan was mesmerised as he gazed at Keela through the webcam, lying in her crib adorned with white and pink material and her pink blanket. If it were possible for him to touch her through the screen and hold her he would have. He ordered me to place the laptop next to her in the crib and when satisfied he was as close to her as cyberspace deemed possible, he sang a most affectionate Irish lullaby he’d written especially for her. The strumming on the guitar was soft and gentle, as was his voice. I sat on the bed watching him. I missed him, I missed him so much.

When his parents were finally allowed to see Keela they were equally in awe of her, ‘oohing’ and ‘aahing’ when she moved a hand or pulled her mouth down at the sides. Her pure white skin was almost pink and she had a mop of blonde hair and perfect rosebud lips.

After a lengthy video call with Egan and his family, Keela was still asleep and I took the time to relax in a deep bubble bath, scented, as always, with lavender. Josie had done the exact same thing and I can’t say I blamed her at all – the last few weeks had been so exhausting. While I soaked up the water I prayed that when Keela woke up I would not panic as I had done every day since her birth. She was still sleeping when I returned to the room and I quietly crept into my bed and curled up, wrapping myself in the covers. Josie said she would need to be fed at about eight o’clock so I had at least an hour for a nap before then. I couldn’t sleep though and just stayed warm under my covers thinking and worrying about whether I would be able to do this. Would I be able to hold her? Would I be able to feed her properly? Would she eventually love me? Would I love her?

They say the mother instinct kicks in naturally the second the baby is born, but I was not her mother and I had not yet held her. I could only pray that somehow, and sometime soon, I would develop a similar instinct. She began to move around and I remembered Josie telling me that this was a sign that she would wake up soon because she was getting hungry. Her bottle and diapers were all ready and waiting just like Josie had instructed me. I thought I should pick her up and try holding her before she started crying but I would probably panic.

I really had to do this without Josie.

I stood over the crib for a few seconds watching as she squirmed and wriggled, it was amusing how she brought her bum up as she tucked her legs in underneath her tummy.

I took a deep breath, ‘Oh please let me do this Lord.’

I reached out towards her, tucked my hands under her arms with my fingers extended behind her neck and head, just as Josie had shown me, and I lifted her up. She was wobbly and soft, like a stuffed toy. Her arms jolted open and I immediately wondered if I had done something wrong, and I was about to put her back in the crib when she relaxed.

Maybe this was normal!

She opened her eyes briefly as I moved towards the bed, stepping ever so carefully and slowly, afraid of tripping over my own feet or of bumping into the crib. Gently, as though I was handling a fragile vase, I laid her down on the bed. She squirmed again, opening her eyes again and flinging her arms out. I crept into my bed again, getting under the covers hopefully without disturbing her too much. I quickly puffed up my pillows against the headboard to make a comfortable back rest, took another huge breath and picked her up as I had done before.

So far, so good!

I held her so that she rested in my forearms, remembering to support her neck. As she faced me her eyes opened, focusing in the dim bedside light as I gazed back at her. She was so beautiful, so perfect, and so tiny. Her outfit, even though it was a newborn size, was still miles too big for her. Leaning back against the pillows and carefully bringing her towards me until she rested against my chest, I eased my arms from around her, my body releasing its tension as I relaxed. I breathed out all the nervous air from my lungs. And then – oh my, oh my – the overwhelming feeling that I experienced I could not describe. Where it came from I will never know. I melted as Keela reached into my heart. I felt chemistry, love, a bond, a wave of emotions, a connection as our hearts joined together. Was this the love a mother felt for her child when it was born? How could I ever find the words to describe this sensation, what my heart was feeling? All different sorts of emotions were rushing through my soul. I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. I had never expected this and I had no way of knowing how to deal with it. I shifted Keela so that her head was nestled into my neck and I snuggled up to her, my head resting softly on hers. I was in love and this love was like no other, this love was pure, genuine and it made me feel complete.

We lay together for what felt like forever. Forgiving and consoling each other, until Keela finally decided she really was hungry and she squirmed and wriggled letting me know that that was enough loving for now; now it was time to eat. As the seconds went by, she became hungrier and more restless, and when finally I had the bottle ready for her she sucked at it in such haste that she had gulped all the milk down in no time.

I burped her just as Josie had shown me and she certainly did burp – huge loud burps, very unladylike for such a tiny girl. When I had changed her diaper and put her into a clean babygrow, also as Josie had shown me, we resumed our snuggling position. The love was confounding and beyond overwhelming; it was incredulous to say the least. I sent a photo of the two of us positioned as we were to Egan, and it wasn’t seconds later when my phone rang. I tried to explain as best I could to Egan what had just transpired and how much I wished he was with me to experience this moment. I told him I would pray that he would feel the same way when he finally met Keela. Egan assured me he would, and was relieved and overjoyed that I had finally overcome my fears, and even possibly my anger toward Dena. He told futuristic stories of our life together in Ireland and in my mind I too saw our happy family. A few more months and we would turn our dreams into reality. I wanted it so badly I could taste it.

I woke up a few hours later to a face so lit up and smiling – it was Josie looking down on me.

‘What a beautiful picture.’

‘Josie! It was so amazing! I thought I wouldn’t be able to do it and then all of a sudden, there was all this love and everything was just so right and so perfect.’

Josie took Keela off my chest, who hardly stirred when Josie cuddled her.

‘So you told your mommy to get over it didn’t you?’

My heart skipped a few beats at the sound of the word mommy.

Then I chuckled with glee, ‘Mommy – well, let’s just hope I don’t have Dena’s gene pool.’

‘You will never be like Dena, Vanda. For one, you have a heart of gold, and two, you have God. And three, you have me that will give you a smack if you become anything like her.’

I hadn’t felt so good waking up in such a long time. While we had coffee, I told Marco and Josie again and again of my experience. I simply could not get over it. When Keela started waking up I went to her naturally, still slightly nervous but willing and eager.

While Josie cradled Keela in her arms and fed her I thought of Patty missing out on this precious time in our lives. And of how happy Josie would be when one day Patty brought home her own pride and joy; what a day of rejoicing that would be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

38.

 

For a few days I thought this was the easiest job in the world. Keela slept and ate and was the most gentle and content baby any mother could’ve wished for.

Until everything changed.

At approximately five o’clock every afternoon Keela would scream blue murder. Josie and Glenna informed me that she was a colicky baby but that she would outgrow it eventually.

Eventually when?

Each day as five o’clock neared I would grow anxious and pray that today would be the day it would end, and that Keela would enjoy her bath and her food and be the happy contented baby she was those first few days.

It was not to be that day.

The plan to move back to my cottage had been put on hold until this colic stage was over. I was just not yet confident enough to take care of Keela on my own. Josie was wonderful and patient with me, even more so than with Keela.

Most mornings it was with such an effort that I got out of bed to go to work, the interrupted sleep every night not boding very well with me at all. With a foggy mind focused on Keela and work, I still had to get my plans for Ireland together. I felt guilty for leaving Josie and Marco – they were my parents and I was their daughter even if not by blood – and there would still be no contact with Patty for another month or so. With Keela being so difficult I had decided, and Egan had no choice really but to agree, that I would wait until she was over her colic before I made the journey. Another delay in the way of our forever, and sometimes it felt as though it was and always would be just a dream.

Egan spoke to Keela every evening, telling her stories of the car races in Ireland and their respective drivers and teams. If it wasn’t for his daily babbling to Keela I would have completely forgotten about the world of cars. As much as I wasn’t interested, in a strange way I missed it. I missed going to the races with all our friends. I missed listening to all the lads talking about cars. I missed seeing Egan’s face light up whenever a car was mentioned or how excited he became at the thought of going to a racing event.

I missed him.

On weekends I felt a little bit more like my old self, being amongst my friends, laughing, smiling and having conversations that were about girl things and not business or baby related. Katrin and Tania often visited me, and the house seemed to have a constant flow of friends visiting from church. Other times we would all meet at the mall for a girls’ day out, and it was these moments when I felt like myself again – even if I was pushing a pram. Jackie and Tali often visited during the week and Tali always brought Coco along. Little Coco was absolutely fascinated by Keela and was always thrilled when I allowed her to hold her.

At church, Coco would be waiting for me to arrive, eagerly standing by as I placed Keela into the pram so that Coco could push her around to visit all the members and all the other little children. It was so sweet to see how the other children spoke to her, how they told her what was going on in their world and how they asked over her wellbeing. I was absolutely sure that Keela understood them better than she understood me.

Minister Wade, as always, was concerned and always asked how I was coping and offered his assistance wherever possible. He took me to one side while everyone was enjoying refreshing drinks after service and asked when I would dedicate Keela to God. Just the thought of having to stand in front of the whole congregation sent shivers down my spine, and so we agreed to discuss it after Bible study in the week. I felt saddened that I would have to do it alone. Since first becoming aware of the occasion where Keela would be dedicated to God, I imagined it would be as a family, Egan included. Not just me, the single mother praying she was doing something right. When Minister Wade’s attention was distracted by his daughter, I was left alone to ponder on these thoughts. I felt depressed and a pang of anger nipped at my nerve ends. I knew I had to get out of there. I found Josie and convinced her we should leave. She went to find Marco and likewise I went to look for Coco to rescue Keela. Marco and Josie were sympathetic to my feelings rather than trying to play them down.

At home I was restless – not wanting to do anything but at the same time looking for something to do, and all I landed up doing was annoying myself. Standing at the edge of the pool I stared into the bright, clear blue water and I knew where I needed to be. It was time for Keela to be introduced to the tower clock, and, with a few bags packed and her stroller and my phone, we took a drive to my favourite spot on the beach. On such a fabulous day I knew it would be busy but I still hoped I could show Keela where the best place in the world was.

The beach was overflowing with people and peppered with umbrellas, games, cooler bags and anything else to make it a perfect day. I had to park some distance away, and even the walk to the tower clock was hindered by passers-by. Eventually I found an area nearby the tower clock where I could comfortably set myself down on the sand, put my umbrella up and sit in peace for the rest of the day. The noise and bustle of people and cars went by unnoticed, as the sea intoxicated my mind and Keela lay sleeping next to me in nothing but a vest and her diaper. I thought of nothing as I stared at the ocean. Even the stream of people going in and out of the water and shrieking in the waves, did not deter my thoughts from nothingness.

My mind was so far away, so far in a vast universe of blank, that I had not realised how far the sun had shifted and left my body exposed under its bright rays. The sound of Keela stirring in her chair brought me back to the present and to the awareness of my burning skin. I looked at my arm and could immediately see how red it was. It couldn’t have been in the sun for very long, but it had obviously been long enough. As I took Keela out of her chair and laid her gently on the picnic mat, I told her all about the tower clock and how it always made me feel sane amongst all the confusion in my life. She did not seem very interested; all that seemed to matter for the immediate moment was the grumbling in her tummy. The little cooler bag kept her milk fresh and cool and she gulped at it almost desperately. I felt bad and wondered if she was not thirsty from heat rather than hunger.

Was I such a bad mother?

I looked around while I held her in my arms and she drank her milk, and I noticed a couple of other small babies being sheltered from the sun under forgiving umbrellas.

Perhaps I wasn’t!

Once Keel