by WC Child
My tears quickly found their escape route. I let them have their way. I cried for many reasons while I lay there in my pool of hurt. I didn't know if Ben intended to kill me, but his actions and his centered attack confirmed to me that, one way or another, he did not want our baby to experience the external side of life. The unexpected revelation of his true intentions crushed pieces of my soul. I thought I knew him; that he was the one, but I had only been exposed to the candy-coated shell that sweetly covered the nut at the center.
Chapter 54
Lifeline
I didn't know consciousness had abandoned me until it returned. With it came bewilderment, confusion and excruciating pain. I was unsure how long it had been since Ben had launched his cowardly assault on us. The shadows of twilight overtook the brightness of day. My vision was blurry, but my body was able to point out his places of triumph. I was afraid to move from the spot on the floor where I landed. Out of fear that another assault could be imminent, I remained silent and still for a bit longer. I strained my senses in an attempt to detect his presence. I was not sure if I was alone in the room or if he was waiting to see if round two of my punishment was necessary.
The stillness of the room greeted memories of my past. I thought about the quiet times spent on the porch swing with Big Mama, the sounds of her laughter, the gentleness of her touch and the love and safety I found in her arms. Those were truly peaceful times. How I wished my body and my mind could travel back to my childhood summer retreat. But I was firmly rooted in the now and with it came the recollection of the horrific trauma I had recently experienced. Each labored breath allowed me to feel the throbbing pain that rippled through my body. I didn't want to move. I feared each small movement would be accompanied by an unending barrage of pain and agony. It would be so easy to just lay there and not have to move, but the possibility of survival diminished considerably using that logic. I had fought hard to survive, but maybe it was time to accept the inescapable conclusion of my and my baby’s existence.
I allowed my mind to drift, not focusing on anything specific, just wanting to find some peace. I was sure that because of the trauma I had recently sustained, the baby couldn’t still be alive. And if that was true, I would undoubtedly travel that same path. I was content to prepare myself for the inevitable to come. I wanted to leave this side with my mind in a good place. Not thinking of the bad that had beset my life, but of all the good I had experienced and the lessons I had learned along the way. I admittedly had spent too many days of my life angry. I missed out on so much love because of my unwillingness to forgive. I overlooked the love I had in search of the love I thought I needed. Somehow, I managed to miss out on both.
Until that time, I had never really understood or appreciated the love of a parent. I marveled at how vehemently I had fought to sustain the life that was inside me, even though our eyes had never met and our skin had never touched. Because I loved it so fiercely, I had been willing to give up my life for my child’s, even without being asked. I couldn’t imagine how much both my parents and my grandparents had loved me. The sacrifices they unselfishly made on my behalf had been more than my adolescent mind could comprehend. It had only demonstrated a fraction of what their true devotion. I was lucky to have been loved by so many, when there are others who had never experienced love at all. In my mind, I wanted to be on that porch swing thinking of the things that gave me joy. I reminisced about the sounds of the crickets and the frogs, the feel of the summer breeze on my face, the lure of the green tomatoes that always made me sick, the smell of line-dried sheets, the futile attempt to grasp the smoke rings from my grandfather’s pipe and rocking back and forth on that seat with my Big Mama. Those were the times I cherished the most. The purity of those moments was the thing I desired to be my last memories as my life came to its end.
I felt it wouldn’t be long before I could be with Big Daddy, Big Mama and my father again. I would finally be able to meet my babies. I was sure I was closer than ever before when I began to hear Big Mama’s voice. But how could that be? I could still feel pain. In eternity, there is no pain. My mind and body couldn’t be in two dimensions at the same time. I wasn’t sure if I was still awake or unconscious. Was it memories that caused my ears to entertain Big Mama's voice and hear the same calm instructions she had used many times before? I thought I heard her say, "It's time to get up baby.”
She had always called me a sleepy head because I hated to get up in the morning, especially on Sundays. Consequently, she often had to help start my day by gently nudging me into the morning. I would lie there in defiance until she made a second and sometimes a third trip, each time elevating the sternness of her instructions until she got the desired results. I kept trying to get my brain to catch up to reality so I could determine if I was fully awake. Then I heard her again.
"It's time to get up baby. You've got to fight hard for both of your lives. I'll stay right here with you."
"I can't Big Mama. It hurts too much right now and I am so tired." I just want us to come be with you."
"But you can't right now. It's not time. For the last time, I’m telling you to GET UP!"
“Yes, ma’am”, was the only response I could give.
Somewhere in the distance, I heard the phone ringing. That sound became my lifeline. It gave me hope and something to concentrate on as a way out of the cocoon of suffering. If I could just get to the phone in time, this would be over. There would be no point in trying to stand. My feeble legs would not support such an effort. The constant battering to my back left my legs able to only feel slight tingling sensations. Besides, one of my eyes was nearly swollen shut and my vision in the other was completely gone. My only option was to drag myself over to the phone, hoping to find deliverance on the other end. Not far into my journey, I felt the new warmth of liquid escaping from my body. I had experienced this feeling in my past attempts at motherhood and I instinctively knew that my joy was in distress. The urgency of my situation had heightened significantly. I had to get to that phone. Time was becoming my subtle enemy.
Doubt strolled boldly into my thoughts and tried to convince me that my plan was pointless. I didn’t allow it to linger long enough for me to stop fighting for our lives. With everything I had, I continued to pull my body with newfound purpose, leaving a trail of blood and determination behind me until I reached my destination. On the other end of the line I heard the voice of my mother. All I could manage to say was "Mama" before I dropped the phone in total exhaustion and relief. Finally, my body allowed itself to rest in triumph. An unexpected calmness quieted my mind and I managed to bring my breathing under control. Each time I inhaled, I was greeted with air saturated with the comforting smell of coffee. Big Mama had kept her promise.
Chapter 55
Recovery
The incessant beeping noise penetrated my unconsciousness and caused my mind to become entranced by its source. The longer I focused on the sound, the louder it became until my mind acknowledged my surroundings. I was no longer on the floor of my home. I was in the sterile confines of a hospital room. My existence was being measured in consecutive beeps coming from a mechanical expression of life. I was overjoyed with the realization that we had survived that brutal attack. My joy was overturned when I moved and was beset with memories of the agony that accompanied Ben’s rage. I had walked thru hell’s half acre and I would carry the scars to prove it. There were no mirrors readily available to me, but the inability to open one eye let me know that glamour shots would not be on my to-do list anytime soon.
The attack had been brutal. I ached both inside and out. In the blink of an eye, my entire life had changed course. Once again, I would have to make peace with who I had become, once I figured that out. I never wanted to think that this was what I deserved, but when I thought about what I had endured, I was angry with myself. I threw a match on an unexposed combustible container; it exploded. I had leveraged my safety for a show of strength. It nearly cost us our live
s. What armpit of the world did this person crawl from where it was acceptable to beat a woman within an inch of her life and leave her and their unborn child for dead? I was not sure where Ben came from, but I knew where he was going before he went to hell…jail.
I wanted to celebrate this victory with my baby. I habitually reached to caress my protruding stomach, only to find it gone. Since I began to provide shelter for this treasure, I had one job; to protect my child. Again, I had failed to sustain a life. After all the fighting and suffering, I had no evidence of the object of my fervent struggle; the reason behind my desperation. I wanted so much to be a mother and once again, I would be unable to claim that title. My baby was gone. It had been a byproduct of the sponsor of alternative facts and Ben had taken back what he couldn’t control. Some say you can't miss what you've never had. As the person doing without, I could refute that myth. My child was just within my reach the last time I closed my eyes. My life continued, but not my child’s. Was this my penance for the way I had treated my first child, my Big Mama and my mother? I still had not earned the right to be a mother. Apparently, I had not convinced the universe that I was worthy enough to receive the gift of the unconditional seeds of love that are planted with every conception. I would have to use the “what ifs” to substitute for unfulfilled longings.
A warm river of tears slowly meandered from my lids and lubricated the hollows of my ears before being gobbled up by the pools at the bottom of my neck. How morbidly conflicting I found my familiar friends. My tears had been a constant reminder of all my failures, broken promises and hopes. Remembering all the reasons our paths crossed, I asked myself what good could come from my survival and my child’s demise. I had no answer that would justify my loss. The tears formed an alliance with shrieks of anguish and caused my body to react with uncontrollable violent movements. The more hysterical I became, the quicker the beeping sound registered on the life-counting monitor. The drugs that were administered calmed me enough to stop the hysterical crying, but it only provided a short-term solution. Each time I became aware of my surroundings, I signaled the need for more pharmaceutical relief until my body succumbed to the stillness caused by an unconscious mind.
Eventually, not even those man-made narcotic detours could block out the relentless storms brewing in my mind. I was forced to feel the pain that would guide me to self-truth. As I lay flat on my back in that hospital bed, I had to stand in my truth about the decisions and mistakes in my own life. I had nowhere to run. I learned a long time ago that feeling sorry for myself accomplished nothing; it just kept me stuck in a place I didn't want to be. But just for that day, I wanted to wallow in the self-pity I had earned.
The pivotal moments of my life swarmed around in my mind. I tried to find planes of discovery based on my map of the world. Just like everyone else, I needed to feel as if I really mattered. As humans, we often walk over each other to have our abstract sense of validation fulfilled. Very rarely do we realize how fleeting that mission can be. Each time the satisfaction quotient gets close to being realized, the target moves a bit further beyond our reach. I kept looking for something or someone external to make me happy. I never wanted to acknowledge my contribution to a distorted version of truths that negatively impacted my life. I avoided the obvious.
After my father died, my life had been like the ocean waves; always in a hurry to get somewhere, but never staying long before cresting, retreating and heading for the next destination. Often the new shoreline ended up being no better than the previous one once the fragments of things caught up beneath the surface were left behind. The waves could be calming and appealing to the senses, while hiding wreckage that is was always willing to be resurrected. I thought that if I kept moving fast enough, my past would not be able to catch up to me. I would be happy before it noticed. But, after I stood over the bed of a sleeping human with a knife in my hand and confusion in my eyes, I knew I would never be able to outrun who was living inside me. I had to accept who and what I was. Then I had to work on finding the pieces of the puzzle that were missing.
The first place I looked was within. I saw things that had caused great turmoil for me. At times I felt like a rock in someone's shoe that, once discovered, was cast aside as an annoyance. Who could sustain self-esteem and recognition of who they were under those circumstances if seldom in their life they felt like a precious stone? I released healing water for the girl who had been locked up for so long, being held hostage by my past; the one who had been left behind; the one who had been raped; the one who had hidden a secret pregnancy; the one whose first true love betrayed her; the one who traded her body for the notion of love; the one who had forgotten to love herself first; the little girl who wanted nothing more than to be with her mother. All those things had been the ransom for the freedom I had been seeking, but none of those truly defined who I was destined to become. In the grand scheme of my life, those trappings would merely be a footnote in the complete story of me. They were just fragments of my past and I was ready and willing to cast off those bindings so that I could reveal the person I was meant to be.
Behavior doesn't immediately change the heart, but it’s the place to start. I kept repeating the same patterns, hoping for a different outcome. But that vortex of irrationality was about to end. I knew I wouldn’t be able to change overnight, but it was time for a transformation that began and ended with me. I had to learn to discover my true self at my own pace. I always thought something was missing from my life and I was right. I had been missing, but I was determined to have a presence in my own life. I was better than the habits I had exhibited. I owed it to the people who had sacrificed so much for me to do better.
I began to realize that what we accept is often tainted by what we feel. The life I wanted and thought I deserved may not ever materialize. I had to be willing to let go of everything that stood in the way of making me feel whole. Fighting to hold on to those dreams had only steered me down a path of destruction; so much so that I had slept with danger and almost didn’t wake up. I had not known who I was apart from my trying to reach a goal that kept moving beyond my grasp. How much longer would I force my life to crumble under the weight associated with my overbearing hunger? I wasn’t sure what the answer was to that question, but eventually my life would come together when I was ready. My current immediate emphasis had to be on healing my broken body; the mental aspects would take a bit longer. At the end of my conversation with myself, I felt liberated by self-discovery and calmness lingered long enough for sleep to once again overtake my mind.
Chapter 56
Finding Joy
My mother was sitting right beside my bed when I next opened my eyes. Her worried smile greeted me. The look of concern remained evident as she stood over me and gently caressed my face. “I thought I had lost you again”, was all she could say before she released her tears. The sorrowful droplets burned with love as they touched my face. I could not hold back my emotions. The grief associated with the loss of another war with nature trickled out.
My mother had a puzzled look on her face as I blubbered unrecognizable syllables that only I could understand about the tragic loss of my child. The more I tried to express my feelings, the more inconsolable I became. All she could do was hold me tightly as she kept repeating the word “no” while I kept clutching her and shaking my head “yes”. I vividly recalled the feelings of helplessness in those moments when I begged Big Mama to get my love child back. It appeared my history of loss had repeated itself. I knew better than to harbor pointless aspirations when faced with the certainty of my loss. My mother allowed my hysteria to run its course before shocking me back into my senses. “It’s gonna be ok.” You both are gonna be ok. I just saw my grandbaby. She’s beautiful.”
It took a moment for me to totally comprehend my mother’s words. But when I did, the tears of pain changed identity midstream. They became tears of joy, sprinkled with relief. I continued to shelter myself in the bosom of my mother and started t
o laugh and cry at the same time. How unbelievable that life’s miracle had remained long enough for me to earn the privilege of being called a mother. More than anything, I wanted to know and feel that I really mattered in this life. I believed it now and was willing to work harder for this child than for anything else I had ever done. So much love had been stored up from maternal disappointments. I was ready to pour the entire reservoir into my tiny miracle. She had fought the battle with me and I couldn't wait for us to finally meet.
I felt as though my heart would explode from happiness when my one functioning eye was treated to an unobstructed vision of my dream. Peering through the window into the face of love filled me with a contentment that felt like salve being rubbed over unhealed wounds. Layers of hurt and disappointment began to fall away. After each joy-filled blink, hope and wonderment permeated my heart with the same love and maternal desire that sprang up in me many lost years ago. I was in awe of the continuation of life that had detached itself from my core and was still within reach. That was a first for me. The longer I looked at her face, the more grateful I became for the determination I had exhibited during my fight for her existence. I realized how close I had come to giving in to doubt. I would have missed out on this miracle. The pain and the sacrifices associated with that battle for her life were quickly forgotten with each tiny breath she was able to take. She looked fragile to many, but I knew she was a fighter. She had reminded me to fight when I needed to be encouraged the most. I instinctively reached forward to touch her, but the unsympathetic window pane prevented the transfer of my heart to hers through physical currents that could only be manifested by human touch. My eyes would have to hold her until my hands would not threaten her sterile existence.