His Bundle of Love / the Color of Courage

by Patricia Davids

  “I expect it’s the same for both of us,” Winston continued. “We got into our lines of work to make a difference. We stay because, not every day, but some days we do make a difference in people’s lives.”

  Mick nodded, surprised at how well the man understood him. He’d made a snap judgment about Lloyd Winston, thinking the man was an overworked bureaucrat who didn’t care. He was wrong. It was evident that Lloyd cared a lot.

  Mick’s smile faded. “What will happen if Beth doesn’t make it? If she dies—what will happen?”

  “Usually, the body remains here until the family chooses a mortuary, but in this case, she’ll be taken to the city morgue. If no one claims the body after three or four months they’ll bury her. The city provides plots for unclaimed bodies.”

  “What’ll happen if she lives, but her mother doesn’t?”

  “As I said, she’ll be placed in foster care.”

  “No.” Mick heard the word, but almost didn’t believe he had said it. Was he really considering such a deception?

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” Winston stared at him.

  “Beth isn’t going into foster care. I know her mother wouldn’t want that.” Is this what You want, Lord?

  Was he losing his mind? Saying that Beth was his child was a lie. But Mick couldn’t hand her over to strangers—whether she lived or died. Wasn’t this what Caitlin wanted? For him to take care of her child if she couldn’t? He was adopting Beth with her mother’s blessing. His troubled conscience grew quiet.

  “I’ll sign the paternity papers.”

  Winston left and returned a few minutes later. Mick took the form and stared at the blank line on the bottom. Signing it would give the child of a stranger his name. Legally, Beth would become his responsibility forever. It would be up to him to make a home for her, to see that she got to school on time for the first day of kindergarten, to see that she had the money to go to college. He’d become responsible for medical bills that could leave him in debt until he was an old man. If she died today, he would plan her funeral.

  Was this right? Was it truly what God wanted of him? If he didn’t do this, could he live with himself? Could he walk away and go on with his life knowing he had let Caitlin down? He knew that he couldn’t.

  I’m sorry for this lie, Lord, but I believe in my heart that this is what You are asking of me. Please help me to do the right thing. Bending forward, he scrawled his name on the line.

  “Mick, you can come in now.” Sandra stood in the doorway.

  He leaped to his feet. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s stable. Come and see for yourself.”

  He followed her into the nursery. A clear tube stained with droplets of blood protruded from Beth’s right side and led to a plastic box below her bed. In its chambers, a column of water bubbled freely.

  “It looks weird,” Sandra said, “but it doesn’t hurt her.”

  Beth was alive, that was all that mattered to Mick.

  Thank You, God. Make me worthy of this gift.

  He slipped a tentative finger beneath the baby’s limp hand. She lay pale and quiet, making no move to grip his finger as she’d done before. Sandra pulled a tall stool over beside the bed, and Mick nodded his thanks. Sitting down, he tilted his face to gaze at his baby.

  His baby. His daughter. A warm glow replaced the chill in the center of his chest. She belonged to him, legally, if not by blood. How often had he wondered what it would be like? Wondered if he could love an adopted child the same as his own flesh and blood? Now he knew. He’d come to love Beth the first moment she had frowned at him. He loved the way she wrinkled her brow, and he loved her long, delicate fingers. He loved the way she kicked her feet over the edge of her bunting, and the way she fussed until someone changed her diaper when she was wet. He couldn’t imagine loving any child more.

  As he sat watching her and trying to imagine a future together he saw Beth’s face contort into a grimace. She stiffened her arms, holding them out straight. Her whole body twitched. He looked for help. “Sandra, something’s wrong.”

  She came quickly to the bedside. She took hold of the baby’s arm, but it continued to jerk. “Let me get the doctor.”

  She returned with Dr. Myers. “How long?” he asked, watching the baby intently.

  “A minute now,” Sandra replied.

  “You’re right. Looks like a seizure. Let’s get an EEG and give her a loading dose of phenobarbital. I’ll write the orders.”

  Mick caught the doctor’s arm before he could turn away. “What would cause her to have a seizure?”

  “I can’t say for sure. We’ll have to do some tests. We’ll let you know the results as soon as we get them.”

  Mick stayed with Beth for another hour, then he left the NICU and made his way down to the adult intensive care unit where he waited to be allowed in to see Caitlin. Her nurse for the evening gave him the first encouraging news he’d had since the day Beth was born. Caitlin was assisting the ventilator at times by breathing on her own.

  “Does this mean she’s waking up?”

  The nurse shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. Patients in a coma can often breathe without a vent.”

  “I see.” And he did. If Caitlin came off of the ventilator but didn’t wake up, she might live in a vegetative state for years.

  He opened Caitlin’s door and stepped into the dimly lit room. She lay on her side facing the window. Beyond the dark panes of glass, the lights of the city glowed brightly, and traffic streamed by on the streets below. Cars filled with people who had homes and families waiting. Everyone had somewhere to go. Everyone except the woman on the bed.

  What he knew of her life had been filled with pain. Had she ever known a safe night in the arms of someone she loved? Would she have a chance for any of those things, or would she live out her life caught between waking and dying, kept alive by tube feedings and overworked nurses?

  Pulling up a chair, he sat beside her and took her hand. “I had to make a choice today, Caitlin. I signed paternity papers. Beth is now legally my child. Our child, I guess. As strange as this sounds, in my heart I feel sure it’s what you wanted. It’s the only way I can look after her.”

  He watched the ventilator for a while, but he couldn’t tell if it was breathing for her or if she was breathing by herself.

  “I’d like to tell you that things are going well for her, but the truth is, she’s in a lot of trouble. It was touch and go all day today.”

  Tears pricked his eyes, and his throat closed around the words he didn’t want to say. “I don’t know if she’s going to make it, Caitlin. And I don’t know how I’m going to face it if she doesn’t. I love her already—I do.”

  He wiped his eyes with the back of one hand and drew a shaky breath. “I have to believe she’s going to be okay. I have faith, and I’ve prayed more in the past few days than in any time in my life.”

  He leaned forward and brushed his knuckles down the soft skin of her cheek. “Lady, you have no idea of the mess you started. I’m not even sure how I’m going to explain this to my family. Frankly, they’re going to think I’m certifiable.”

  * * *

  “You did what?”

  “That can’t be legal, can it?”

  Mick listened to the protests and objections of his older sisters as they sat at the oak table in his kitchen three days later. He knew they would react this way. That was why he’d called them together, to get the protests over with all at once. Then maybe he could get some sleep.

  Beth’s lung was healing, but an EEG confirmed she was having seizures. The doctors had started her on a drug called phenobarbital to control them. Soon after that, she had gone to surgery to close her patent ductus arteriosus, and Mick had spent agonizing hours in the surgical waiting room with Pastor Frank and Lloyd Winston at his
side for support.

  The surgery had gone well, and Beth’s condition had finally stabilized enough for Mick to feel that he could spend some time at home. Thank goodness his mother was better and didn’t require his constant care. The last few days had seemed longer than a month. He was bone tired, but he needed to get this meeting over with.

  “What about this child’s real father? Don’t you think he has something to say about this?” Mary demanded, crossing her arms over her ample bosom and rattling the lid of a dainty teapot that sat in the center of the table.

  Mary was the oldest, and he expected the most opposition from her. He’d often joked that he’d been born with three mothers instead of one. Alice, the sister closest to him in age, was his senior by twelve years. His mother sat at the table with them but she remained quiet.

  Mick said, “According to Caitlin the baby’s father is dead. She told me when we first met that there isn’t anyone.”

  Mary’s frown deepened. “Even so, I can’t see why you think you need to be the child’s parent. Did you even consider the financial obligation you’re taking on? You’ll have to support this child until she’s eighteen even if her mother recovers.”

  “I know that.”

  Mary’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And if her mother doesn’t recover? Do you think you can raise a child alone?”

  “Yes, I do,” he answered with more confidence than he felt. He’d asked himself these questions and more over the past several days. He might not be the best parent in the world, but he intended to give it his best shot.

  He looked at each of his sisters in turn. “She’s a tiny, helpless baby—so tiny I could hold her in one hand, and she doesn’t have a soul in the world to care for her. No one should have to go through the things she is going through alone.”

  “Will she...will she be right?” Alice asked.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Children like this—aren’t they—sometimes mentally challenged?”

  Mary looked at him with pity. “Oh, Mick, what have you gotten yourself into?”

  He wanted to ignore their questions. He knew the possibilities, but it didn’t change the way he felt. Beth was his, for better or for worse.

  “It’s too soon to tell if she will have disabilities,” he said. “Tests show she had a small bleed in her brain. A Grade Two, they called it. Some babies do have problems after that, but some do fine. We can only hope and pray she’ll be healthy, but it doesn’t matter.”

  “Of course it matters!” Mary’s tone was incredulous. “Did her mother use drugs? Is she addicted? Has she been tested for AIDS?”

  Mick tried to curb his annoyance. Couldn’t they accept that Beth was simply a baby in need of love and affection?

  His mother held up her hand. “Hush, girls, and leave him alone. You two don’t know how lucky you are to have had healthy babies. No child comes with a guarantee. Only God knows what we will have to face. I’ve been willing to trust Him all my life and so does Mickey. It’s something both of you would do well to try.”

  He took a deep breath. “If I can’t do anything else for her—even if she doesn’t make it—I can see that she’s not alone in this life.”

  Mary’s gaze fell before his. “But signing paternity papers seems so extreme.”

  “It was the only way,” he said.

  Alice lightly clapped her hands. “Great speech. Just the right touch of a plea for maternal understanding. How long did you practice?”

  “I think what Mickey is doing is wonderful.” His mother rose to his defense. “It’s not like he’s totally clueless around children. Why, he babysits your kids often enough.”

  Mary gave a huff. “Watching the kids for an hour or two is not like raising them. And what about your job? You can’t simply take off for the next few months.”

  “I can use the vacation time I’ve got coming, and I can afford to take off a few more weeks if I have to.”

  “And when this baby comes home from the hospital? Who’s going to watch her when you go to work? You can’t expect Mom to take on the job at her age.”

  “I’m not expecting any of you to take care of Beth. I’ll arrange for day care like the rest of the world does.”

  “You don’t always have to be the hero, Mick,” Alice said quietly.

  “I’m not trying to be a hero here.”

  “Are you sure?” Mary asked. “First you follow in Dad’s footsteps in the same job that got him killed. And no offense, Mom, but then, Mick insists on moving you in with him after the accident. As great as that is, Mick, I think you’re putting your own life on hold. You were only eight when Dad died, but you were determined to be the man of the family.”

  Mick rose from the table with the pretext of refilling his coffee cup. He’d become the man of the family because, with his dying breath, his father told him he had to.

  “My life isn’t on hold, and Mom is welcome to stay here as long as she wants.”

  “Because you promised Dad you’d always look after her,” Mary stated.

  He whirled around, barely noticing the hot coffee that sloshed over his hand. “Leave Dad out of this!”

  “Please, children, don’t fight,” Elizabeth pleaded.

  Mick stuck his stinging knuckles under the tap and turned on the cold water. “Mom is here because we all decided it was the best solution. As for my work—I like being a firefighter. It’s my life, Mary. Just because I didn’t choose a nine-to-five job like your boring businessman husband doesn’t mean it’s a waste. Money isn’t everything.”

  “As usual, I see you don’t intend to listen to anything I have to say. If you wanted my advice, you would have asked for it instead of telling me after the fact. Mother, I hope you can talk some sense into him.”

  Biting back his retort, Mick turned around. “I’m sorry, Mary. I don’t want to argue. I do want your support in this.”

  “And I can’t give it. A child needs a mother and a father. You’ve got no business trying to raise one by yourself.” She rose and headed out the back door, letting it slam behind her.

  “You shouldn’t have said that about Rodger,” Elizabeth chided.

  “Oh, pooh.” Alice waved her mother’s objection aside. “He is boring and Mary was the first one to notice.”

  “No, Mom is right.” Mick dried his hands. “I let Mary get under my skin, and then I say something that makes her mad.”

  “Mary was born mad,” Elizabeth added quietly.

  Mick and Alice turned to stare at her in astonishment.

  After glancing from one to the other, she straightened. “Well, it’s true. It’s the red hair.”

  Mick laughed. “My hair’s red. Do you say that about me?”

  Alice snorted. “Mom has never said an unkind word about you from the day you were born. Frankly, it irked me. Nobody’s that perfect.”

  “Mom doesn’t know the half of it,” he retorted.

  Elizabeth grinned at him. “Don’t be too sure about that.”

  “No,” Alice said, “you, little brother, are too good for your own good.”

  “Would you rather I lie, drink, steal and swear? That’s not a very Christian attitude.”

  “What I’d like is to see you go a little wild once in a while. Skip church on Sunday. The place won’t fall down.”

  “Alice!” Clearly appalled, Elizabeth gaped at her daughter. “Just because you don’t go to church on a regular basis is no reason to tempt Mickey to give it up.”

  Rolling her eyes, Alice asked, “Are you tempted?” When he shook his head, she turned to her mother and spread her hands. “See? All I’m saying is that he needs to have a little fun in his life. He’s way too serious.”

  She rose and crossed the room to stand in front of him. “If you’re determined
to do this, fine. Just make sure you’re doing it because you want this, and not because you think this is what Dad would want you to do. Otherwise, much as I hate to say it, I’m with Mary on this.”

  * * *

  “Good news, Mick.” At the NICU the following morning, Sandra came across the room to greet him. “We pulled Beth’s chest tube today. She’s doing fine.”

  “That is good news.”

  “Would you like to hold her?” Sandra asked.

  Joy leaped in his heart. “Of course I would.”

  Then, just as quickly, his elation took a dive, tempered by a heavy dose of dread. “Are you sure it’s okay?”

  Smiling, Sandra patted his arm. “I’ll be here to keep an eye on her. Have you heard of kangaroo care?”

  He shook his head.

  “It’s where we let parents hold their babies skin-to-skin. We’ll lay her on your bare chest and cover her with a blanket. Your body heat will keep her warm, and the sound of your heartbeat will soothe her. Want to try it?”

  “Sure.”

  “Good. We’ll be able to do this once a day if she tolerates it, but moving her is rather complicated and that’s the stressful part. We ask that you hold her for at least an hour. Do you have that much time today?”

  “You bet.”

  At the bedside, he saw Beth lying curled on her side with both hands tucked under her chin.

  “Hey, sweet pea. I get to hold you today. Isn’t that great?”

  Beth’s eyes fluttered at the sound of his voice, and she yawned. Chuckling, Sandra said, “I don’t think she’s suitably impressed with you.”

  Sandra indicated a recliner beside the bed. “Okay, Mick, take your shirt off.”

  He pulled his T-shirt off over his head. Feeling a bit self-conscious, he sat in the chair, still as a fire hydrant, while the nurses transferred Beth. The scary part came when they unhooked her from the vent. Alarms sounded until Sandra laid the baby on his chest, and reconnected her to the machine.