by Gary Smalley
“We’re sure. Christina, you’re like family now. I haven’t thought of you as my ‘client’ for a long time. I know a few days from now, we’ll wrap up our official relationship at the Women’s Resource Center. But I hope we keep meeting as friends for years to come, and I hope you feel free to talk to me about anything you’re going through, big or small.”
Christina didn’t say anything. “Could you hand me that box of tissues?” she asked Michele. “I’m crying way too much these days for a New Yorker.” After she dabbed away her tears, she said, “Marilyn, you’re like a mother and a good friend all wrapped up into one. After Megan left to take care of her mom, I was actually thinking of quitting the center. I didn’t think I’d ever meet anyone I liked as much as her. But now I think meeting you might be the main reason God brought me to that center in the first place.” Suddenly, Christina’s face contorted in pain. “Here comes another one.”
“Breathe,” Michele said, reaching for Christina’s hand. “Just like that. Breathe with me.”
39
Michele was exhausted. Five hours had gone by, the last three spent coaching Christina through hard labor. But the baby was born strong and healthy—a little girl, weighing seven pounds, four ounces. The nurse had just taken her out of the room for some reason. Michele had forgotten why. But the baby was okay. Everyone was saying she was just fine.
Christina looked totally spent. She had done a marvelous job. As hard as the labor was, God was kind to allow the baby to come so soon. Two hours ago, when she learned this was Christina’s first child, one of the nurses said they should be prepared for this to go all night. Michele didn’t see how either one of them could have made it that long.
She patted Christina’s hand, and she opened her eyes. “Will you be okay in here for a little bit, if I go out and see Mom and Jean?” Both of them had been in the birthing room right up until the actual delivery began. Then they had to go to the waiting room.
“I’ll be fine. You go ahead. And thank them for coming.” Her eyes closed as she was talking
“You just rest now.” Michele slipped out.
The waiting room was just down the hall. When she walked through the doorway, her mom and Jean stood. Michele had already texted them right after the baby’s first cry.
“How’s she doing?” Jean asked.
“She’s resting. I wouldn’t be surprised if she falls asleep.”
“Where’s the baby?”
“Down the hall in the other direction. The nurse told me what she was doing, but I forgot. Mind if I sit down? I feel like I’m going to fall over.”
“You look awful,” her mother said. “Not awful. You know what I mean. Wiped out.”
“That was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through,” Michele said. “And I wasn’t even the one in pain.”
“When your time comes,” Jean said, “I think that’ll become the new hardest thing you’ve ever experienced. After Tommy was born, I remember telling Tom that I would never go through that again. After a while, you forget about the pain and you’ve got to have another one. I said the same thing right after Carly was born. Right there in the delivery room. ‘Tell me we’re done, Tom,’ I said. ‘Promise me we’re done.’”
They all laughed. Then something Jean said repeated in Michele’s mind. When your time comes. Would her time come? When? In a month? In a year? Two years? Five? No, she had to stop this. It was just the exhaustion talking.
“Do you know what the plan is?” Jean asked. “I mean . . . with the baby? Is Christina going to see her, or will they take her right away? That’s an awful thing to say, but . . . do you know?”
“I don’t know,” Michele said. “We didn’t really talk about it.”
“I know,” Marilyn said. “I don’t think Christina would mind me telling you. She doesn’t have any other family here.”
“Speaking of family, did you call her mom in New York?” Jean said.
“I asked her if she wanted me to,” Marilyn said. “She said no. I don’t think she’s bitter. It’s just that her mom is totally out of the picture. It’s hard for me to fathom a mom writing off her child like that. But it doesn’t sound like they’ve had any contact since Christina moved to Florida. Christina said she sent her a bunch of letters in the first few months, but her mom never got back with her. It’s a really rough situation. She mentioned once she had an older brother. He moved out to California, but she hasn’t seen him in years. She’s not even sure he’s out there anymore.”
Michele couldn’t imagine what Christina’s childhood must have been like. Not to mention going through the ordeal she just experienced without any family to support her. “Well, she’s got us now.”
Just then, their pastor, Ray, walked in. “How’s Christina doing? Allan texted me a little while ago that she just had the baby.”
“She’s doing fine,” Michele said. “So’s the baby. I’d take you in to see Christina, but she’s sleeping. She had a pretty rough time.”
“I’m sure she did,” he said. “Poor thing. I don’t want to disturb her. I just wanted to stop by, see if there’s anything I could do. Besides pray, I mean. We’re already doing that.”
“I think we’re okay for now,” Marilyn said. “We’ll tell her you stopped by.”
“Do you know what will happen with the baby? Will Christina be able to see her? I’ve never been involved on this side of an adoption before.”
“I was just about to tell Jean and Michele. Christina asked to see her just one time after the dust settles, alone. Of course, that’s allowed. She could see the baby much more than that, if she wanted to. But she thought it would be too hard to see her more than once. She asked that the adopting couple be allowed to take the baby home with them as soon as the doctors give the okay.”
“Can they do that?” Ray said.
“In Florida they can. Different states have different laws on this. But from what I understand, the adopting couple is here in the hospital, in another room. I’m pretty sure they know the baby’s been born. If the doctors approve, they’ll probably get to hold her very soon. Christina can’t sign the consent forms until she’s ready to be discharged. They want to make sure she’s free of any medication. But she’s told me, she wants to do it as soon as they say she can.”
Jean sighed. “I can’t even imagine the pressure she’s going to feel when they give her that form.”
“I’m not sure she will,” Michele said. “Every conversation we’ve had about this, she’s been totally settled about it.”
“I agree,” her mom said. “She’s shown amazing resolve. But that doesn’t mean it won’t be incredibly difficult to say good-bye to her baby.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Ray said. “We’ll really need to keep her in prayer and give her lots of encouragement, especially over the next few weeks. Well, I guess I’ll go then. Please give her our love and tell her if she’d like to get with us, with Julie and me, we’d be happy to meet with her.”
“I will, Ray,” Marilyn said. “Thanks again for coming.”
Ray was barely out the door when they heard a commotion in the hall. Ray was talking with someone in a loud but friendly tone. After a few moments, Michele heard him say, “Well, it’s good to see you again. Let me get out of your way.”
A moment later, her little brother Doug walked into the waiting room.
40
Doug, what are you doing here?” Marilyn asked.
“Is that a problem?”
“No, of course not. I just wasn’t expecting you.” She hurried over and gave him a hug.
“He called me earlier,” Michele said, “and told me he was coming. I forgot to mention it.”
“Has she had the baby?” he asked.
“She did, a little while ago,” Marilyn said. “Everyone’s fine.”
“Where is she now?”
“She’s in her room, just down the hall,” Michele said. “The baby’s in with a nurse. They’re just doing some routine thin
gs.”
“Come on over and sit down.” Marilyn led the way, and everyone sat in the padded chairs.
“Has she seen the baby?” Doug asked.
“For just a moment, right after she was born,” Michele said. “But they’re going to bring her back in a little while, I think, so Christina can say . . . good-bye.” Tears formed in Michele’s eyes. In the next moment, everyone got a little teary, even Doug. But he turned his head away, just once, as if willing the tears away.
“That’s going to be so hard,” Jean said.
Times like this, it was nice being a guy, Michele thought. It was so much easier for Doug to gain control of his emotions. She looked at her mom. “I’m not sure what to say when I see Christina. Do I tell her what I’m really thinking or do I try to think of something distracting to talk about? Did they give you any training on this?”
Her mom thought a moment. Regained her composure. “I think the best thing is just to take our cues from Christina. None of us really know what she’s going through right now. But it seems obvious God is giving her grace for this. I don’t think it’s a good idea to try and guess how she’s doing, then think of comforting things to say based on those guesses. Let’s just let this play out a little, let her help us be the kind of friends she needs right now. If she says she doesn’t want to talk about something, just let it go and give her some room.”
“That sounds like great advice,” Jean said.
“Yeah, thanks, Mom,” Doug said. “When can we see her?”
“I don’t think we can go in as a group. That’ll probably just overwhelm her. Let me go find out where things are at now. I think they’ll tell me because I’m her mentor at the Resource Center. You can come with me, Michele, since you’re her birthing coach. We’ll come right back after we find out some news.”
They walked down the hall toward the nurses’ station on the right. Michele stopped briefly when they got to Christina’s room. She peeked in the little window. Christina was there, but not with the baby. Her eyes were still closed. Michele said a quick prayer and rejoined her mom, who had begun to talk with one of the nurses. By the time she reached her, the conversation had ended.
Her mom stepped away from the counter and turned toward Michele. “Apparently everything is all set. The doctors have checked the baby out, and she appears to be perfectly normal and healthy.”
“Thank God.”
“And Christina is doing very well too, considering all she went through. It was actually a fairly short labor for a first baby.”
“It didn’t feel very short. So what’s going to happen now?”
“They’re going to bring the baby back to Christina for a few minutes, so she can . . . you know, be with her for the last time.”
“Should one of us go tell her? I peeked in the window. She might be asleep.”
“You can go ahead. I’ll go back to the waiting room and tell Jean and Doug what’s going on.” They started walking back down the hallway. Her mom said, “I asked the nurse to let us know when Christina was done visiting with her baby, so we could go in and see her.”
When they got to Christina’s door, Michele said, “Pray for me.”
“You know, you don’t need to say very much right now.”
“I know,” Michele said.
She opened the door quietly. As soon as she walked in, Christina’s eyes opened.
“Hey, Michele.”
“How do you feel?”
“Beat up. I feel all beat up. But they told me to expect that.”
“You don’t look beat up. My mom and Jean are in the waiting room. Doug’s here too.”
“Doug came?” She instantly started messing with her hair. “Oh crap. I don’t want him to see me like this.”
“Why? You look good.”
“You know lying’s a sin, right?”
Michele laughed. “I mean for someone who just delivered a baby.” She looked around the room, saw Christina’s purse on a short counter in the corner. “You have a brush in there?”
“Yeah. Will you get it for me?”
Christina brushed her hair as best she could. Michele had suspected that Christina had feelings for Doug, and this pretty much confirmed it. Doug had denied he had any feelings for her in a conversation with their mom, insisting they were just friends. But Michele had to wonder, considering that Doug would leave school in the middle of the week and drive here at night to see her. They could barely get him to drive home most weekends.
“He’s not coming in now,” Michele said. “I’m just checking to see if you’re ready to see your baby.” Please, God, help me say the right things. She took a deep breath.
“So soon?” Christina said. “I thought it would be awhile before they ran all their tests.”
“I guess that’s a good thing. It means she’s perfectly healthy.”
“That’s a relief.” She finished brushing her hair. “Could you take this?”
Michele took the brush and walked it back to Christina’s purse.
“I guess I’m ready. As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Then I’ll go tell them.” She smiled feebly and walked toward the door. Christina looked so small and frail and young. Michele stopped, her hand on the doorknob. “We’ll be praying for you down the hall. People in the church will be praying too. Ray stopped by while you were—”
“The pastor?”
Michele nodded. “He said he and Julie would be praying for you tonight.”
“That was nice of him to do that, come all the way here to see me.”
They looked at each other for a moment. Michele was glad to see how well Christina was doing, but she was also trying to suppress a tinge of jealousy in her heart. She’d give anything to switch places. Not to be going through what Christina was facing, but to have a baby she had just delivered right down the hall.
Christina sat up a little straighter, evened out the wrinkles in the blanket and sheet. “Guess you better go get them, tell them I’m ready to see the baby.”
41
Michele had just left. Christina was alone.
She closed her eyes and prayed for strength. She needed to do this. Not for legal reasons. She didn’t have to see the baby again. When they had taken her away at birth, things could have ended then. She could have begun shutting down her emotions, shifting her focus forward. Trying to pretend this whole ordeal had never happened.
People did that. They called it denial. It was a powerful thing. Just keep lying to yourself long enough and hard enough and you can silence all the emotions connected to anything you didn’t want to deal with.
But she knew that wouldn’t do. Not for her, anyway. This was a moment that needed to happen. A memory she needed to make.
There was a knock on the door. She tensed, opened her eyes, and looked up. The door opened and a nurse walked in. Christina glanced at her arms. She wasn’t holding the baby. Christina breathed again.
“Are you ready for . . . your special visitor?” the nurse asked.
“Trying to be. No, I am. You can bring her in.”
“She’s right out here in the hall. Another nurse is holding her. Just wanted to make sure you were ready.”
Christina shifted in her bed. “Okay.”
The second nurse came in holding the baby. Christina could just see the pink crown of her head poking out of the blanket. The nurse was also holding a white envelope.
“Here she is.” She came around the bed and placed the baby in Christina’s arms.
For a few moments, she didn’t look at her baby but at the two nurses’ faces. Afraid if she did, she’d start crying in front of them.
“How much time would you like?” the nurse asked.
“Just a few minutes.”
“Well, here’s the remote. Just press that button and one of us will be right in. I’ll set this envelope here on the nightstand.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a letter from the baby’s new parents. You can read it now
or later. Even take it home and read it if you’d like.”
“They’re here, right?”
The nurse nodded. “Down the hall, in a different waiting room.”
“Did they get my letter?”
“They did.”
“Have they seen the baby?”
“They have. That’s what you wanted, right? That’s what we were told.”
“Yes, definitely. That’s what I wanted. Were they excited when you brought her in?”
“Excited, thrilled, speechless . . . lots of tears.”
The other nurse added, “The mom said she couldn’t believe this day had finally come.”
The mom. She called her the mom. That was good. That’s who she was. Christina was glad they were so excited. She thought about Michele and how excited she would be when her day finally came.
They stood there looking at each other. Finally, the nurse said, “Well, we’ll leave you two alone. Just push that button when you want us to come back.”
“Okay.”
And they left.
For the first time, she registered the weight and warmth cradled in her arms. She looked down into the baby’s precious face and just stared, taking in every feature. Her eyes were closed. Her cheeks pink and pudgy. Her tiny left hand was pulled up under her chin. Christina reached her finger down and touched each of the baby’s miniature fingers. The baby instantly grabbed hold of Christina’s finger and squeezed.
“Look at your little fingernails,” she said. “They almost don’t even look real.”
It was hard to believe this tiny little person had been living inside of her up until a short while ago. She reached down along her legs until she could feel the balls of her feet through the blanket. How long was she? She’d forgotten. “No bigger than a breadbasket,” she said aloud.
That phrase floated up from somewhere deep in her memory. It was something her older brother was supposed to have said the day she was born. He’d walked around their neighborhood on Long Island, telling it to housewives out hanging their clothes on clotheslines. Her mother had told Christina this years ago, back when they used to talk to each other. “You probably won’t ever meet your uncle,” Christina said. “Or your grandmother.”