Remember This

by Patricia Koerner

  I cancelled my plans to attend the Oscars. Under the circumstances, I wanted to avoid seeing my family and especially avoid any chance of running into John.. I told Harry Smithson that I was sick with the flu and asked him to accept the Oscar for me should I win. When I did not win, I felt it was just as well I didn’t make the trip.

  Over the next few months, I hoped to get another movie project, but none that were in development at the time interested me, so I worked mostly on new songs. Until I figured out a way to tell John and my family about the baby, I wanted to keep my condition a secret. I began wearing loose clothes and kept socializing to a minimum.

  I began bonding with the baby almost as soon as the doctor confirmed my pregnancy. I composed a lullaby and several nursery songs which I sang to Matty, although I couldn’t tell him just yet about his new sibling. At times I would sit and stroke my growing belly and wonder what he or she would be like; this little person who had taken life from John and me, from our love.

  Physically, I seemed to have boundless energy. Every day, Matty and I went to a park, or a museum or to a movie. I wanted him to feel loved and not feel displaced by the baby when it came. At one of my monthly checkups, my OB/GYN, Dr. Bennett, told me I had gestationally induced hypertension. “You’re going to have to carefully watch your sodium intake and most importantly, avoid stress as much as possible,” he said. “I can’t prescribe the usual medications because of the risk to the baby.” I promised to take care of myself, though I couldn’t imagine anything wrong. I’d never felt better in my life.

  I put Matty to sleep one night with one of my new nursery songs and then settled into a comfortable chair with a book. I’d gotten only a few pages along when I felt a tiny soft kick, then another, then another. At that moment, the baby became a living reality rather than some vague potentiality. I turned my thoughts to finding a way to break the news. Time was passing quickly.

  It took me a while to go through several scenarios in my mind. I considered telling my parents and Danny first and then enlisting their help in telling John, but in the end I decided that as the baby’s father, he had the right to know first. I thought a letter would be a gentler way to break the news than a phone call.

  The next time Tony came to take Matty for a visit, I sat down to write John. I resolved not to go to bed that night until the letter was written and posted in the mailbox down the street. I began the letter with a heartfelt apology for the delay in telling him something that I should have told him months ago. I went on to assure him that I wouldn’t pressure him into anything. I would accept whatever level of involvement he chose to have with me and the baby, though I hoped our child would be lucky enough to know him.

  I had just finished that last part when I felt a sharp, cramp like pain. Gasping, I stood up to catch my breath. Another pain, now clearly a contraction, sent me running to the toilet. I sat down and blood began pouring out. I’d had some pain and a little bleeding recently, but it wasn’t severe and Dr. Bennett had assured me this was a common occurrence. I phoned his office in between contractions and told his nurse what was happening. She told me to get to the hospital right away and she would locate Dr. Bennett and have him meet me there.

  After throwing a few things into an overnight bag, I phoned for a taxi. The driver was kind enough to assist me to the door of the emergency room. By this time the pain was blinding and I could feel blood soaking my sanitary pad. I could also feel the baby kicking frantically inside me.

  As I was sinking to my knees, two people caught me and lifted me onto a gurney. I was barely able to tell them my name and that Dr. Bennett was on his way. “Just take it easy,” one of them said, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “We’re going to get you taken care of. Dr. Bennett will be here soon.”

  After that, I began to lose consciousness. I was vaguely aware of being hooked up to a monitor and of my trousers being removed. I caught only snatches of conversation. “Get an IV” … “We need to stop the bleeding” …” BP is dropping” … “Fetus is in distress” … Can you get a heartbeat?” After that, I blacked out.

  I’m not sure when I woke up. My memory of that time is still somewhat fuzzy. It must have been early the next morning. Immediately, my hand went to my belly. It was sore and tender. From the emptiness I felt, I knew I was no longer carrying the baby. I heard a noise to my right. I turned and saw a nurse checking my IV. Her skin, the color of coffee, contrasted with the stark white of her uniform. Without my glasses and still groggy from the sedation, I couldn’t make out her features. “Hello,” she said. “My name is Chantal. If I can get you anything, if there is anything I can do for you, just push this call button.” Her lilting French accent told me she was probably Haitian.

  “Where is my baby?” I asked her. I pushed myself up into a sitting position. “I want to have my baby here in the room with me.”

  Chantal took my hand and held it a moment. “Let me get Dr. Bennett.” She hurried out of the room before I could say anything. When she returned with Dr. Bennett, she stood back near the door while he pulled a chair close to my bed and sat down. Tears sprang to my eyes even before he said a word. The look on his face told me the news was bad.

  “Hannah, I’m so deeply sorry, but we couldn’t save the baby. She was just too premature and fragile.”

  “Why?” I screamed “What happened? What killed my baby?”

  “You had what is called ‘placental abruption.’ The placenta separates from the uterine wall. If intervention comes soon enough, sometimes the baby can be saved. In your case, it progressed so rapidly, there just wasn’t time. Once the placenta detached, the baby was deprived of oxygen.”

  “My little girl … suffocated in my womb?” I recalled the flurry of kicking I felt as I arrived at the hospital. She was struggling and fighting for her life. The thought ripped through my heart. I don’t know how long I shivered and sobbed before I was able to speak again. “I want to see my baby. I want to hold her.” I threw off the covers and got to my feet. The room suddenly seemed to spin around. I grabbed the IV pole to steady myself and it clanged loudly as it collided with the metal bed frame.

  “Hannah, no!” Dr. Bennett and Chantal both caught me and helped me back into bed. “You’ll start bleeding again.”

  “I don’t care! I want my baby!” Dr. Bennett nodded to Chantal, who then left the room. Dr. Bennett excused himself and in a moment, returned with a cup of water and some pills.

  “Here. These are an antibiotic and something for the pain and to help you relax. I’ll check up on you later. Chantal will be back soon with the baby.”

  After Dr. Bennett left, it seemed forever before Chantal returned. I tried not to start crying again as she approached cradling a small bundle in a pink receiving blanket. “Here is la bebe,” she said, placing her in my arms. “Do you need anything?”

  “No, thank you. I just want time alone with her.”

  When the door closed behind Chantal, I slowly unwrapped the blanket. The baby was no bigger than the baby dolls I’d had as a child. Small as she was, she was perfectly formed, her eyes closed as if in peaceful sleep. Like I did with Matty, I counted her little fingers and toes, their nails like tiny pink seed pearls. More tears came as I saw her ears were of exactly the same shape as John’s, as was her mouth. I noticed the little cleft chin and thought at least she has something from me.

  Reddish brown hair had already grown in and I kissed and stroked her downy head as I cuddled her to my breasts. Her pale pink skin made me think of a rosebud which had been cut from the rosebush and left on the ground to die before it had a chance to open and bloom. My little rosebud would never bloom, but she would know her mother loved her. I soon was unable to keep my eyes open and, exhausted from weeping, fell asleep still holding her.

  When I woke again, the baby was gone. My chest felt as if a boulder rested on it, but I didn’t cry again. Every tear had been wrung from me. I had no more tears left to cry. I caught sight of something on the chair near my bed.
I eased myself out of bed and picked it up. Inside plastic wrap was the pink receiving blanket along with the cap and booties the baby had worn. Chantal must have left them.

  Dr. Bennett came that afternoon and authorized my release for the next morning. I phoned Tony and told him I was in the hospital with a kidney infection and that I would be home the following day. He was angry that I hadn’t phoned him sooner and he had to re-schedule a meeting so he could care for Matty. I apologized and explained that I was unconscious and hadn’t deliberately inconvenienced him.

  Before I checked out the next morning, Chantal came to help me dress because I was still weak. She brought a form for me to fill out for the birth and death certificates and a small box containing the baby’s ashes.

  “Do you have a name for her?” she asked.

  “No. I mean yes, yes I do. She was my little rosebud, so that is what I’m naming her.” I took the form, filled it out and signed it, making it official that Rosebud Newman was born and died on June 13, 1983.

  Chantal picked up the form and read it. “Rosebud. I’ve not heard this name.” I explained that a rosebud was a rose that had not yet opened.

  “Ah, bouton de la rose. Oui. I understand now. I could see that she understood not only the meaning of the word, but the reason I chose the name.

  I reached out and took her hand. “Chantal, I want to thank you for all your kindness, your understanding. It means so much to me. I’ll never forget it.” I was grateful, more than she could know, that she didn’t assail me with lame platitudes such as ‘It was God’s will’ or ‘She’s in a better place now.’ Better place? What better place for my child than in my arms?

  The first thing I did when I arrived home was close all the blinds. I couldn’t bear to see the sunlight. I ached all over. My arms ached for Rosebud and my breasts, heavy with milk, ached and leaked. Bromocriptine and cold compresses eventually put an end to that, but it would take a lot more to end the numbness in my soul. Although I returned to work and a semblance of a normal life, mostly for Matty’s sake, a part of me died with Rosebud.

  I burned the half written letter to John that was still on my desk. I decided never to tell him or my family. What would I say now? ‘Oh, I had a baby, but she died’? They, especially John, would have been devastated and deeply hurt. Over the years, there were times that I thought, ‘John should know; after all, she was his child’ and almost told him. As time passed, though, it became more and more pointless to disclose something which would, given John’s sensitive heart, only leave him broken. I loved him too much to do that. So, until now, little Rosebud remained my own private sorrow, an unfulfilled promise.

  27

  Present Day (July 27th):

  Sophie switched off the recorder, reached over and squeezed Hannah’s arm. “Are you all right? Let’s stop for today.”

  Hannah nodded as she wiped her eyes and replaced her glasses. “Just give me a few minutes.”

  On the table lay Rosebud’s birth and death certificates, a small sealed box, slightly bigger than a ring box, and plastic wrap containing the receiving blanket, cap and booties. Sophie pulled out the booties and stroked them with her finger. “I can’t imagine what I’d do if this happened to me. I think I’d lose my mind.”

  “I almost did. I put these into a storage trunk a day or two after I returned home from the hospital. I then forced myself to move on and did not allow myself to grieve or mourn. In spite of this though, every year when June comes and roses bloom, I feel a stab of pain, of loss and emptiness. Yesterday, I took these from storage and tried to decide if I could bring myself now to talk about it.”

  “If you want, we can leave this out of the book … if it would be too painful to have it public …”

  “No,” Hannah interjected, I want it in. This is John’s and my story. Rosebud is part of our story because she was part of us.”

  Both women started at the sound of the doorbell. Hannah shrugged. “I’m not expecting anyone,” she said as she made her way to the door. Looking through the peephole, she laughed. “It’s only Matty.”

  “I thought I’d surprise you and take you to lunch if you weren’t busy …” Matty’s voice trailed off as he noticed Sophie.

  “Come in, Sweetie. This is Sophie Alessandro. We’re working on a project, but we’ve just wrapped up for the day. Sophie, this is my son, Matthew Townsend.”

  “I’m happy to meet you, Matthew,” Sophie rose and offered Matty her hand. “Your mother has told me so much about you, I feel as if I already know you.”

  Matty chuckled nervously. “No kidding? What project are the two of you working on?”

  “Sophie is a writer,” Hannah explained. “After what happened with the pictures on the Internet, I decided to tell my story and Sophie is writing it.”

  “Mom, please don’t do this. It will only stir the whole thing up again.”

  “I considered that, but I’m not going to allow people like that have the last word about me, about John. I’m determined, Matthew, and I won’t be swayed.”

  Matty let out an exasperated breath. He glanced toward the dining table and saw the booties and other things there. He walked over, picked up the certificates and read them. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to compose himself. “Miss Alessandro, my mother and I need to have a private talk. Please … please excuse us.”

  Sophie picked up her bag and looked at Hannah, then Matty, then back at Hannah. “It’s all right, Sophie,” said Hannah as she walked with her to the door. “This is something long overdue. We’ll pick up again Thursday.”

  When the door closed behind Sophie, Matty said, “Alright, you can start explaining now why you never told me I had a sister.”

  Hannah walked back to the dining table and sat down. Matty took the seat opposite her. “Matty, you were too young to understand then. Later, I just didn’t want to talk about it. It left me devastated and broken and all I wanted to do was forget because it was and still is so painful to remember. Now that you’re becoming a father, perhaps you can understand.” She went on to tell her son what she had told Sophie. When she finished, Matty rested his head in his hands while it all sank in. Finally, he said, “I can’t help but wonder if, had she lived, you wouldn’t have been so engrossed in John and this child you had by him that I would have become … an afterthought.”

  “What? No! How can you even think that? Seriously, Matthew, if you and Paula have a second child, will you stop loving your first?” Hannah’s eyes burned with tears at Matty’s hurtful words. “I’ll have you know this too,” she went on. “John was good to you. He took care of you and loved you as if you were his own.”

  “If I had been, Mom, would you have loved me more? Would have I meant more to you if I’d been the child of the love of your life?” Before a shocked Hannah could answer, Matty demanded, “What was my father to you anyway? Just a mistake, someone you wish you’d never been with?”

  “First, Matthew,” Hannah struggled to keep her voice from cracking. “I’ve always loved you with all the love that is in a mother’s heart. Second, I know you were meant to come into this world, to come to me; something that could never have happened if I hadn’t married your father. He and I weren’t right for each other for the long term, but I’ve never thought of him as a ‘mistake’ nor wished I’d never been with him. He gave me you, something no other man, not even John, could have done. Think about that.”

  Without answering, Matty rose and strode to the door and opened it. “Matty! You’re going to leave? Just like that?”

  Matty spun around. “Are we done here? Or are there more secrets yet to be spilt, more skeletons still to come out of the closet?” He then walked out the open door.

  Hannah, enraged at her son’s attitude, ran to the door and slammed it so hard, she could feel the vibrations in her feet.

  For the rest of the day, Hannah’s emotions swung back and forth between anger at what she perceived as Matty’s disrespect and lack of compassion on the one hand a
nd on the other, of losing him, the only family she had left, the son not only of her womb, but of her heart. She sat by her window and watched as a thunderstorm raged and then gradually abated. She then watched several hours of old television programs in an effort to numb her mind. Finally, she decided the ball was now in Matty’s court. She wasn’t going to be the one to offer the olive branch.

  As she was undressing for bed, her phone rang. The caller ID showed it was Matty. “I’m not in the mood to talk with him,” Hannah said to herself as she turned off the phone and dropped it into her nightstand drawer.

  After a fitful night’s sleep, Hannah retrieved her phone and saw three missed calls with voice messages. The first two were from Matty, apologizing and asking Hannah to phone him. She was surprised to hear Paula’s voice on the third message. “Hannah, please forgive Matty. He’s your son. He really is sorry. He still loves you. He was just upset about finding out about … you know … his sister. Please call us.” Hannah smiled and shook her head. “Bless her heart,” she thought. “The family peacemaker.” She imagined that Paula, coming as she did from a large, fractious, noisy Russian family, was accustomed to family quarrels and spats and knew how to smooth them over. By that evening, Hannah’s anger dissipated and she wanted to hear her son’s voice again. She picked up her phone and dialed.

  When she finally put down the phone, Hannah was tired. She had talked with Matty and Paula for nearly two hours. She felt confident now that she had answered all of Matty’s questions regarding his baby sister, her relationships with John and with Tony and most of all, her feelings for him. She went out to her balcony and stood at the railing, looking up at the sky. Even though it was late, the lights of the city still obscured the stars. She remembered how, as a child, she imagined the stars as the spirits of those who had died. When her beloved Nana died, even though she knew by then the stars’ true nature, Hannah picked one out anyway and made it her grandmother’s. She searched the sky for it now, but couldn’t find it as it was too faint to be seen through the city lights. Laughing a little at the memory, she retreated back inside and went to bed.