Carry Her Heart

by Holly Jacobs

  I shook my head no. I wanted to see this—to see every moment. I watched with more intensity than I’d ever watched anything.

  The class slowly walked down the aisle and took their seats. A few didn’t sit in the auditorium seats, but instead walked onto the stage and joined the teachers on the folding chairs up there.

  Amanda was one of those.

  The principal talked, but I heard none of the words. I lived for the moments the camera panned toward the chairs and I caught sight of her. As he filmed the scene, Ned must have known that’s how I’d feel, because the camera didn’t stray from her for long.

  The first speaker talked, but to my ears it was blah, blah, blah.

  Amanda stood.

  “What did they say?” I asked.

  “She’s valedictorian,” Ned said quietly.

  I hit rewind and went back and listened closely as they announced the valedictorian . . . Amanda. Only that wasn’t her name. I’d always known that wasn’t her name, but it was the name I’d carried with me through all those years of not knowing, of hoping, of praying for her.

  Siobhan Ahearn.

  She looked as Irish as her name sounded. It fit her.

  I thought I saw my father in her. Ned had zoomed the camera in on her and yes, her eyes were my father’s eyes. Eyes that I’d always thought looked like the picture of my great-grandmother Rose.

  Amanda didn’t look nervous as she stood at the podium in front of a microphone. I had never given a speech without practically quaking in my shoes, but I saw no evidence of that in her. I was impressed by her bravery.

  But Amanda—Siobhan—looked as if she was as comfortable at the microphone as she was on her living room couch.

  “Congratulations to all of us,” she said and the room erupted in thunderous applause.

  “We did it. We’re graduating. I know that the last thing you all want to do is sit through a long speech. You’ve all gone to school with me for years . . . you’ve heard just about everything I have to say. I know, I’ve always had a lot to say.” There was a pregnant pause, and as if on cue, the crowd laughed. She went on, “So I’ll make this brief.”

  Someone in the audience shouted, “No, you won’t.”

  The audience laughed again and Amanda-Siobhan laughed along with them.

  But the noise died down and she grew more serious as she went back to her speech.

  “Today we’ve reached a milestone and a crossroad. We are no longer children. We are adults and we all have decisions to make . . . important decisions that will affect the rest of our lives. Some of those decisions we already made or are in the process of making. Should we go to X school or Y school? Should we go to a trade school? Should we . . . ?”

  She paused, then repeated, “Should we . . . ?” She left the sentence hanging there and toyed with her necklace.

  I paused the DVD and tried to catch my breath.

  “What?”

  I’d been crying as I watched, but this was too much. I cried so hard I could hardly breathe past the tears.

  “Pip?” Ned said, and I could hear that I was causing him pain, and that was enough to help me get myself back under control.

  “The locket she’s wearing. It’s from me. The one I put in with the letter I wrote her and enclosed with a letter I wrote to her parents.”

  “What did the letter say?” Ned asked.

  I’d kept copies of both letters for myself. I had read them both over the years, just to be sure that I’d said everything right. They almost felt like a story I told myself. I could quote them verbatim to Ned.

  “I told her parents, ‘Thank you. Thank you for taking my daughter into your home and into your heart. When, and if, you think she’s ready, I’ve sent a letter to her along with a locket that was my grandmother’s. I’ve left it unsealed so you can read it. If you choose not to give it to her, I understand. And even then, I thank you.’”

  “You were a writer even then,” Ned said. “And the letter to her?”

  “It said, ‘Please don’t ever feel I gave you to your parents because I didn’t love you or want you. I am too young, and you deserve so much more than I could give you. I would give you the sun and the moon; I would give you the world if I could, and still it wouldn’t be enough. I love you so much, I wonder that my heart can hold so much feeling and still beat.

  “I wanted to give you something tangible. This locket was my great-grandmother’s. Two greats for you. Rose was an amazing lady. Her family was poor. She did what was expected. She married. Two months after she had her son, she lost her husband. Rather than raise her son, my grandfather, in poverty, she did the unexpected. She moved them to Dublin, where she worked as a maid in a hotel. But when he was five, she realized that wasn’t enough. So again, she did something unexpected.

  “She put his needs first. She packed his bag, gave him this locket with her picture and his father’s, and sent him with an older sister to America. My grandfather never saw his mother again. But she worked and sent money for his upkeep and his education.

  “His mother died when he was seventeen. He went on and became a teacher. When I was little, Grandpa used to tell me stories of his mom. He’d tell me about her strength. And I must have inherited enough of that strength to let you go. To give you a better life than I could give you. So if you wear the locket, remember, you come from a long line of people who are strong and who love deeply. Remember you have always been loved.”

  Ned was crying now, but managed to whisper, “God, Pip.”

  “I wanted her to know that sometimes love means letting go. I needed her to know that I loved her. I called on the strength of my Great-Grandmother Rose when I signed those adoption papers and gave my daughter to someone else to raise.”

  There on the screen was my daughter, holding on to Rose’s locket.

  “She knows,” Ned said. “She knows.”

  I hoped so.

  I hit play and Siobhan dropped the locket and said, “There are so many choices. And each one we make will have a lifelong impact. I know about that kind of life-changing decision. You see, today I need to thank both of my mothers for the choices they made. I thank the mother who raised me. She opened her heart and her home to a child she didn’t give birth to. That decision—made before I was born—set my life on a path. Never has any child been so loved.

  “But I also need to thank the mother who gave birth to me. Most of you don’t know I’m adopted. Why would you? But before I was my parents’ daughter, there was another woman who carried me for nine months.”

  She paused and I could see tears in her eyes even as I felt my own tears still streaming down my face. “She reached a crossroad in her life and made a decision that affected us both. She gave me my parents and because she did, she gave me a very happy life.”

  I paused the tape again. It was too much to take in all at once. I looked at Ned and hiccupped through my tears as I asked, “She was happy?”

  Having only seen the few moments of her on my television, I thought she was, but I needed to hear him say it. I needed to know that she was.

  Ned nodded. “From everything I found, she has been very happy. Her parents love her and she loves them. She’s an only child who was doted on, but not spoiled. You gave her that, Pip. She had the life you dreamed of.”

  I brushed at my eyes, needing a clear view as I hit play. There she was, on the screen in front of me. “I hope that mother who gave birth to me and had the strength to give me to another couple to raise had an equally happy life.

  “I’ve always known I was adopted, and I’ve wondered about my birth parents. For my graduation, Mom and Dad gave me a letter this other mother wrote for me. It had this locket in it.” She touched the locket again. “And she told a beautiful story. I had my answer. Love. That other mother gave me away out of love. Someday, when I’m older, I will find her, if she
wants to be found. And when I do, I’ll say, Thank you for your decision. That decision you made before I was born gave me a wonderful life.”

  Again, I hit pause because the tears were blinding me. I was crying too hard to watch anything more.

  I cried for the great-grandmother who’d made an equally hard decision so many years ago.

  I cried for the girl I was. A scared, heartbroken girl who spent one single hour with her daughter, then lived the next eighteen years building a life around the child she gave away.

  I cried and Ned held me. He didn’t say anything. He simply wrapped me in his arms and let me cry.

  Finally, I pulled back, leaving Ned’s shoulder soaked in my tears. He took the remote control, looked at me, and when I nodded, he hit play.

  Siobhan said, “When I find that mother who gave birth to me, I hope she has a husband who loves her like my dad loves my mom. And I hope she has a houseful of children. With that one decision that she made for me, she showed that she is able to put someone else first. That is the kind of quality my mom has. It’s the kind of quality that every mom should have.

  “I brought this all up because as infants and children, our parents make, or at least influence, our decisions. One mother decided to give me up for adoption because she wanted to give me a better life. And my parents decided to open their lives, home, and hearts to a child. They gave me a wonderful childhood. Those decisions were made by others and they affected the course of my life to date. But now, I’m making the decisions.

  “That’s what I’m here to remind you . . . we all are making our own decisions now, but those decisions impact others. We need to make the best decisions we can and be prepared to live with where those decisions lead us.

  “I hope that as I start my adult life, I make decisions as good as both my mothers . . . and you too, Dad.”

  The audience laughed, and the camera panned to a tall, nerdy-looking man sitting next to a woman who might look plain in other circumstances, but looked absolutely stunning as she watched the daughter she loved. I remembered handing Amanda into their care all those years ago.

  “That’s it, I guess,” Siobhan said with a smile and a shrug. “I promised you short. Go out, make decisions for your life, but as you make them, remember that each one will ripple through the rest of your life. The decision a great-great-grandmother made in another country so many years ago has rippled through generations and brought me here as much as the decisions both my mothers made. Remember, you impact the lives of others around you. So make good decisions. Congratulations again to all of us . . . and congratulations to our parents who raised us to adulthood and to the teachers who are all sighing with relief that we’re out of here.”

  I wiped at tears even as I smiled. Siobhan had an innate sense of timing and a good sense of humor. She’d said so much in those few minutes.

  I paused the DVD one last time.

  “Thank you,” I whispered to Ned. “I look at her and I know that my decision all those years ago was the right one. I gave her the life I wanted for her—a good life. A happy life, from the looks of it. And in return, she gave me a good life. A very happy one.”

  All those years of worrying. Of seeing her in the faces of the kids I helped feed. In the kids I wrote for. In the kids who were sick and afraid. I could stop seeing her in all of them.

  No, no, I would still see her in every one of them because every sick, scared, hungry child could be her. Every one of them was someone’s child. I would still see her in them.

  I felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off me. I don’t know that I ever realized how much not knowing had eaten away at me.

  I felt like I could finally exhale after years of holding my breath.

  It was only in its absence that I could feel the difference.

  I was free.

  Ned gave me those gifts. The gift of my daughter and the gift of knowing that I’d made the right decision.

  For the first time since I was fifteen and told my mother I was pregnant, I could go and do anything.

  I realized I didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything else. Here was exactly where I wanted to be.

  “So you’ll wait for her to find you?” Ned asked. “I mean, I could—”

  I shook my head, stopping him before he could tempt me. “When she’s ready. I’ll be here waiting.”

  He nodded.

  Then I added, saying the words that Siobhan’s generous speech had freed me to say, “But I hope I won’t be here alone.”

  I’d told Anthony that I would never have any children. I’d been afraid that if my Amanda ever found me, she’d resent the children I had and kept. But that girl on the screen, the girl who was walking across the stage to collect her diploma, she wouldn’t resent her half siblings. Instead, she’d said she’d be pleased, and I believed her.

  And the man sitting next to me had been the one to give me the gift of my daughter.

  How appropriate that the man I loved had given me my child. Not in a traditional way, but nonetheless, he had.

  Ned didn’t say anything, so I added, “I just want to be clear; I want to have you by my side.”

  He smiled, and I knew his answer before he said the words. “I’m glad you clarified it for me. Let me be equally clear . . . yes. If Amanda—”

  “Siobhan,” I corrected.

  He nodded. “If Siobhan shows up tomorrow, I’ll be here.”

  He took my hand in his. “If she shows up next year, I’ll be here.”

  And then he kissed me.

  How had I lived next to him for almost four years and not known how much I loved him?

  He broke off the kiss and held me as he said, “If she doesn’t show up until we’re old and gray, I’ll be here. I’ll be sitting next to you on the front porch, watching a new crop of kids go to school.”

  “Watching our children and grandchildren,” I said, needing him to understand that I was free.

  And Ned, being Ned, did understand. He smiled and nodded. “Watching our children and grandchildren. We’ll get some old-people porch rockers and we’ll sit together and wait.”

  “What if she never comes?” I asked.

  “I’ll be here for you,” he assured me softly. “You could try to push me away, but the harder you pushed, the faster I’d come back to you. And you need to know in your heart of hearts that I will always come back to you.”

  And as always, Ned was right. That’s what I needed to know. But I think that maybe that’s what I’d always known.

  Despite my question, I knew Siobhan would come, just as I knew I would have more children. Ned’s children.

  “I have one more thing for you.”

  He went and got a piece of paper and handed it to me. It took me a moment to realize I was looking at a copy of a diploma.

  “This took some work,” he said.

  It was a diploma made out to Siobhan Amanda Ahearn.

  I cried again.

  They’d heard me. All those years ago, her mother and father had heard me say good-bye to her and they’d made my name for her a part of her name.

  They’d let me be a part of her all these years.

  I cried again, but it was okay because I knew Ned would hold me. He’d be here while I cried and while I waited. I knew with no other words that he’d be here at my side.

  Later, when all my tears had been shed and I’d watched the video again with Ned by my side, I said, “I love you.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he said and laughed. “For the record, I love you, too.”

  I was able to laugh and say, “Yeah, you just love me two. But I love you one . . .”

  Epilogue

  Dear Siobhan,

  I have written in this journal for four years now. I’ve used up almost all the pages, so this is my last entry in your book. I thought when I started writing it
, I was writing it for you—as a way to tell you the story of a chapter of your life you never knew about. And in part, that’s what this is. But in the end, it was the story of me as well and the stories of all the people’s lives we’ve both touched.

  Through these pages, I was trying to be your mother. All the talks we might have had, all the times I might have held you and comforted you and chased away your nightmares . . . all those and so many other mother-daughter moments I tried to wrap into these pages.

  I’ve built my life around you, and now, as you graduate high school, like any parent, I’m letting go. There will be no empty nest for me. That came before. Now, my nest will be full. Ned and Princess live here now. And we’re getting married in the fall . . . in my garden. It’s going to be a small ceremony. Just us, surrounded by family and a few friends. Coop will be there. And Jo, too.

  And on that day, I’ll be a wife.

  It will be a new description for me.

  Everyone has so many ways to describe himself or herself. We wear so many hats. I’ve been a daughter, a granddaughter, a student, a teacher, a nurse, a storyteller, a gardener, a . . . Every person can describe himself or herself in hundreds of ways. Reader. Writer. Cook.

  Of all the ways I can describe myself, writing your book has taught me there are three designations I cherish above all.

  Writer is one, not the most important one, but it’s a central part of who I am. I love telling stories. I love living in other people’s skins, walking in their shoes for the course of a book. I read somewhere that readers live a thousand lives. Writers live even more, and I think we live them more intimately. In some way, all of my books have let me feel a part of your life.

  This fall, I’ll add wife to my most cherished descriptions of myself. It seems almost superfluous because I’ve realized that I have loved Ned since that first day when I sat on my front porch and wrote that description of Couch Couch. I didn’t realize it then, but I did. He’s part of me and stands next to you in my heart.

  Lastly, but always first, I am a mother. Ned was right; I’ve always been that. Not in the same way the mother who raised you is your mother. But in my own way. Uniquely.