This past Saturday was wonderful. I watched the April snow over a bowl of the best granola the Short North has to offer. Covering the fresh pieces of pear with yogurt, I reveled in the morning. Tricia and Lisa drove down to spend some time with me before Tricia headed back west to college and California, and I loved every moment of my time with them. They sang outloud in the car together, harmonizing, and I closed my eyes and listened to them, trying to memorize the warmth of their voices. I spend such infrequent time with them.
And then I spent time with Dave. After attending to some gun business (specifically the upper receiver for his AR-15 parts kit, not that that means a thing to you) we drove to Easton and spent a wintry April day ice skating at the Chiller. Much to our surprise, we didn't spend a majority of the time sprawled on the ice or collecting nasty bruises, but did ourselves proud. Dave did have a pretty good wipe-out trying to take a turn too sharp and fast, and as I sped past all I could see were these skates and long legs shooting straight up into the air. We tried our hand at skating backwards and, when Dave wasn't trying to even the score by tripping me onto the ice, I think I might've done it a tiny awkward bit. We had a lot of fun crashing and banging into each other (purposely) and enjoyed our time together.
I don't know if I ever wrote it here, even though I told everyone I met, but just to make sure you know I had a phone call with my mom in mid-February. Just a routine check-in asking her to refill my medication, but there was a twist. Instead of saying goodbye she sighed and told me she was pregnant.
PREGNANT. 7 weeks pregnant. And just in time for her 40th birthday. My first reaction was to laugh. My second was to cry. My third was to laugh again. All inside of 30 seconds. How do you react to that, especially over the phone? A week later she asked me to be in the delivery room when she had the baby and showed me her new maternity clothes. Three weeks ago she and I got lunch and the baby's first outfit, soft and yellow no matter what the gender. I've been telling everyone I know about it for the past 8 weeks.
Sunday I worked a 12-5 shift and my stepdad picked me up from work; he bought a big colorful bouquet for my mom and we drove home. I hugged my mom as I came in and asked her how she was doing. And then she looked at me with these wet brown eyes and leaned a little farther away from me against the counter and lowering her voice said, "Oh honey...I lost the baby last night." No fat happy momma. No delivery room. No baby to put in those soft yellow pajamas.
This is where it gets hard to type, and where you don't have to read.
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She told me what happened: the midnight phone call to the doctor, the premature labor at home, and the baby. The perfectly formed baby with tiny ears and elbows and toes still curled up in the amniotic sack. She told me about having to wake Trent up and show him what happened. She told me about putting the baby, only as long as my hand, in a plastic bag and sleeping with him on her chest. I'm glad she got to spend that one night with him. In the morning she wrapped the bag in a towel and put him safely in the crisper. I can envision her kneeling on the kitchen floor Easter morning, clearing out the bags of baby carrots and putting him somewhere cold. I got to meet my brother and he's beautiful in a way that I think most women and not too many men understand. I traced the shape of his little head as he rested in my mother's hands, awe-struck at his magnificent intricacy. When my mom and I looked closely we saw the umbilical cord coiled twice around his tiny neck. After a couple minutes she put him back and closed the drawer; while the door was still open she pulled out a bag of cheese to use for dinner. My stomach knotted and my throat constricted. Later that night, after mom had told my little brother and sister what happened, my brother was in the fridge getting a glass of water before bed. And like it was the most normal thing in the world said "Goodnight baby!" before closing the door. Mom said that she and Trent couldn't help but laugh. How do you act on days like that?
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I went over to Dave's after dinner, laden with Easter treats and sadness. He listened and touched me and held me; his tenderness was soothing. We watched TV for a little over an hour, and it was a welcome distraction. But when I got home that night, both roommates were asleep and I was alone for the first time since I found out. Trying to put groceries away and walk up and down stairs was strangely difficult because an image would seize my mind and reduce my body to tears. Why, why am I so incredibly sad about this? I turned on Seinfeld until one in the morning to drown out thinking and postpone sleep; when I woke up this morning I was disoriented from frantic inscrutable dreaming. I didn't tell the girl who gave me a ride. I didn't tell my classmate when she asked how my Easter was. I did not want to talk about it - the more I talked about it the easier it became, but the more true it became as well. I still wanted to be having a terrible dream, but there was that queasy assurance that this was indeed happening.
I talked to my mom for ten minutes before class. She had just gotten out of the doctor's appointment. She told me that the baby was a boy. She told me they put ink on his feet so she has his little footprints to keep. She told me she got to kiss him goodbye.
I told the girl I had lunch with. Then I told one of my friends about it over the phone. I was cooking spaghetti when I told her. I cried over my noodles, still wondering why I am so deepenly saddened by this.
And then I spent time with Dave. After attending to some gun business (specifically the upper receiver for his AR-15 parts kit, not that that means a thing to you) we drove to Easton and spent a wintry April day ice skating at the Chiller. Much to our surprise, we didn't spend a majority of the time sprawled on the ice or collecting nasty bruises, but did ourselves proud. Dave did have a pretty good wipe-out trying to take a turn too sharp and fast, and as I sped past all I could see were these skates and long legs shooting straight up into the air. We tried our hand at skating backwards and, when Dave wasn't trying to even the score by tripping me onto the ice, I think I might've done it a tiny awkward bit. We had a lot of fun crashing and banging into each other (purposely) and enjoyed our time together.
I don't know if I ever wrote it here, even though I told everyone I met, but just to make sure you know I had a phone call with my mom in mid-February. Just a routine check-in asking her to refill my medication, but there was a twist. Instead of saying goodbye she sighed and told me she was pregnant.
PREGNANT. 7 weeks pregnant. And just in time for her 40th birthday. My first reaction was to laugh. My second was to cry. My third was to laugh again. All inside of 30 seconds. How do you react to that, especially over the phone? A week later she asked me to be in the delivery room when she had the baby and showed me her new maternity clothes. Three weeks ago she and I got lunch and the baby's first outfit, soft and yellow no matter what the gender. I've been telling everyone I know about it for the past 8 weeks.
Sunday I worked a 12-5 shift and my stepdad picked me up from work; he bought a big colorful bouquet for my mom and we drove home. I hugged my mom as I came in and asked her how she was doing. And then she looked at me with these wet brown eyes and leaned a little farther away from me against the counter and lowering her voice said, "Oh honey...I lost the baby last night." No fat happy momma. No delivery room. No baby to put in those soft yellow pajamas.
This is where it gets hard to type, and where you don't have to read.
----------
She told me what happened: the midnight phone call to the doctor, the premature labor at home, and the baby. The perfectly formed baby with tiny ears and elbows and toes still curled up in the amniotic sack. She told me about having to wake Trent up and show him what happened. She told me about putting the baby, only as long as my hand, in a plastic bag and sleeping with him on her chest. I'm glad she got to spend that one night with him. In the morning she wrapped the bag in a towel and put him safely in the crisper. I can envision her kneeling on the kitchen floor Easter morning, clearing out the bags of baby carrots and putting him somewhere cold. I got to meet my brother and he's beautiful in a way that I think most women and not too many men understand. I traced the shape of his little head as he rested in my mother's hands, awe-struck at his magnificent intricacy. When my mom and I looked closely we saw the umbilical cord coiled twice around his tiny neck. After a couple minutes she put him back and closed the drawer; while the door was still open she pulled out a bag of cheese to use for dinner. My stomach knotted and my throat constricted. Later that night, after mom had told my little brother and sister what happened, my brother was in the fridge getting a glass of water before bed. And like it was the most normal thing in the world said "Goodnight baby!" before closing the door. Mom said that she and Trent couldn't help but laugh. How do you act on days like that?
----------
I went over to Dave's after dinner, laden with Easter treats and sadness. He listened and touched me and held me; his tenderness was soothing. We watched TV for a little over an hour, and it was a welcome distraction. But when I got home that night, both roommates were asleep and I was alone for the first time since I found out. Trying to put groceries away and walk up and down stairs was strangely difficult because an image would seize my mind and reduce my body to tears. Why, why am I so incredibly sad about this? I turned on Seinfeld until one in the morning to drown out thinking and postpone sleep; when I woke up this morning I was disoriented from frantic inscrutable dreaming. I didn't tell the girl who gave me a ride. I didn't tell my classmate when she asked how my Easter was. I did not want to talk about it - the more I talked about it the easier it became, but the more true it became as well. I still wanted to be having a terrible dream, but there was that queasy assurance that this was indeed happening.
I talked to my mom for ten minutes before class. She had just gotten out of the doctor's appointment. She told me that the baby was a boy. She told me they put ink on his feet so she has his little footprints to keep. She told me she got to kiss him goodbye.
I told the girl I had lunch with. Then I told one of my friends about it over the phone. I was cooking spaghetti when I told her. I cried over my noodles, still wondering why I am so deepenly saddened by this.
Comments
I wish I was there so I could hold you tight, and say hello and goodbye to your precious little brother. I love you so much... it's sad that we're so far apart. But even from a distance I'll pray for you all.