I cried softly into my hands. “But there is no hope.”
“You feel that way because you’ve shut God out of your life. I would feel hopeless too without God.” Pastor Ted reached over and grabbed my hands, revealing my distraught, tear-soaked face. “Lenna, let him back in. He wants back in. He loves you.”
“How could he love me?”
“I know. Isn’t it wonderful? That’s the gift of grace.” Pastor Ted smiled and wiped my face with a tissue. “Without grace, none of us would be good enough, not just you.”
“But I haven’t earned it. I was ashamed of him, ashamed of my faith. I threw it all away for nothing, for a boy who used me and threw me away.”
“You didn’t throw anything away. All you have to do is say the word and you get it all back. You don’t have to earn it. If we earned it, it wouldn’t be a gift. And nobody can earn it, not even the most righteous man on earth… which I am in the running for.” He smiled, and I couldn’t help but crack a smile myself.
“But how do I reconnect with him? I feel so totally cut off right now.”
“Just go home and talk to him. Talk to him and read your Bible so that he can talk to you. That’s all it takes. The rest will come.”
“The rest?” I asked
“The peace, the hope, the joy. It will all come.”
“Promise?”
He squeezed my hands. “He promises.”
~ ~ ~
I got home, set my keys on the counter, and went to my room, once more curling up in my bed and covering my head with a pillow to block out the light. My mom ran up the stairs and burst into my room, apparently just to make sure I was alive because after she saw me, she left me alone.
I lay in bed all day, turning what Pastor Ted had said over and over in my mind.
He knows what’s best for us.
Without God, I would feel hopeless too.
The peace will come.
I had been pushing so hard to make it through on my own, to not have to depend on God to help me. I knew I couldn’t do that anymore. I was drowning and would soon sink completely to the bottom. I could take one of two paths at this point: continue depending on myself to get through this mess, which I had to admit wasn’t working out so well, or I could put my fate in God’s hands.
And so I made another choice that night—a choice so different from all the ones I had made over the last several months. I chose to get off my bed and onto the floor. I chose to get on my knees. I chose to spend that entire night praying to God for help until my knees wore out and I fell to the floor, where I continued praying until sleep overtook me. I finally made a good choice.
Chapter 15
I woke up the next morning, still on the floor, but with something new flowing through my tired body. It wasn’t the same feeling of darkness and despair that had engulfed me over the last few days, but a feeling of hope and peace.
I pulled myself up off the floor, peeled the ragged clothes from body, and took a shower. I stood in the shower with an almost palpable sense of a cleansing of my spirit, as though the water had the power to wash away months of pain and anguish. I stayed there until the water ran cold, then got dressed and went downstairs.
My mom and dad sat at the kitchen table. “So,” my mom said as I entered the kitchen. “Who won?”
I sat down at the table and rested my chin on my hands. “God did.”
She nodded. “I figured as much.”
My dad reached over and grabbed my hand from under my chin. “Everything is going to be all right,” he assured me. “We’re going to get through this. You’re going to get through this.”
“I know,” I said. “I really do know.”
“I spoke with the school,” my mom said. “I told them you would be back on Monday. I’m going to pick up your work for the week from your teachers.” She gave me a grave look. “Lenna, there’s a good chance you’re going to have to go to summer school or take extra classes next year at community college to make up for this semester.”
I nodded. “I knew it would end up this way. I’ll do what I have to.”
My parents nodded in agreement. “I also made an appointment with a new obstetrician,” my mom added. “She was recommended to me, and I think you’ll like her from what I’ve heard of her.”
“That’s good.” I took a sip of orange juice. “When do we go?”
“I made an appointment for next Thursday after school. No more missing school for appointments no matter what.”
“Okay,” I agreed.
~ ~ ~
We walked into the warm, inviting doctor’s office, potted plants in every corner, cushioned seats covered in floral patterns. My mom signed us in while I took an open seat next to a rotund lady.
She looked at my own bump and asked, “When are you due?”
“Uh…” I felt taken off guard—it was the first time anyone had asked me that. It took me a few seconds to remember my due date. “July twenty-fourth,” I finally said.
“First one?” She smiled and seemed not to notice how young I was. Either that or I had aged about ten years in the last few weeks.
“Yes,” I said.
“Do you know the sex?” she asked, and I wished she would stop asking me questions.
“It’s a boy.”
“Mine too!” she exclaimed. Luckily, a nurse came out and called the lady’s name before she could ask me any more personal questions. My mom took the now vacant seat next to me and grabbed a magazine. I was content to stare at the floor while we waited.
After about twenty minutes, the nurse came out and called my name. We followed her back to Dr. Rhoades’s office, bypassing all the rooms with stirrups. “The doctor will be in shortly,” she assured us and left.
I gazed around the room at the family photos and framed accolades. A bulletin board plastered with pictures of the doctor with various newly birthed babies in her arms hung on one wall. I doubted she would be putting a picture of herself holding my baby up there.
“Hello there,” Dr. Rhoades said as we entered the office.
“Hi, I’m Naomi James,” my mom greeted her. “And this is Lenna.”
“Hi,” I whispered.
Dr. Rhoades took a seat next to me instead of sitting on the other side of her desk as Dr. Levin always had. She smiled warmly and, looking me in the eye, said, “It’s nice to meet you, Lenna. How are you doing?”
I glanced at my mom and back at Dr. Rhoades. “Okay, I guess.”
Her eyes were sad with understanding even though she continued to smile at me. “I understand you’ve come here for a second opinion about your baby’s medical condition.”
I nodded.
She took a deep breath, and her smile faded. “Well, I’ve looked over all your files, and I agree with Dr. Levin’s diagnosis.”
I nodded again. “I know.”
She frowned. “I’m sorry, Lenna. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you.”
“You don’t recommend doing another amniocentesis or ultrasound?” my mom asked.
Dr. Rhoades shook her head. “I think it would only serve to cause you more pain.”
“Dr. Levin said I could terminate the pregnancy if I wanted to,” I said.
Dr. Rhoades stared at me. “Is that what you want to do?”
I looked at my mom, who looked back at me with a wondering look. “No,” I said. “I’m not going to terminate.”
My mom’s eyes filled with tears and she nodded, taking me in her arms. She cried into my shoulder while Dr. Rhoades sat quietly, giving us our moment in peace.
Finally, I pulled away and asked, “What do you recommend? Because I don’t know what I should do now.”
Dr. Rhoades took my hand in hers. “I would recommend that you cherish every moment of your pregnancy you have left because we don’t know when it will end. If your baby is born alive, I would say to love him and hold onto him for however much time you have, as it will probably be brief. I agree with Dr. Levin that medical interventio
n would be irresponsible and an unnecessary hardship on both you and the baby. This baby may only have minutes to live. It’s up to you to decide how he spends those minutes.”
I nodded and wiped the tears from my face, thanking God for already answering my prayers by giving me a new doctor with such warmth and understanding. “Then that’s what we’ll do.” My mom grabbed my other hand and squeezed it. I looked at her. “We’ll just let whatever happens happen. It’s in God’s hands now.”
The decision to let my baby be born, and to let my baby die, hadn’t come easily and it wasn’t getting any easier. I found myself constantly thinking about when the baby would die. Would he live until the birth? Through the birth? As time passed, I felt a strong desire growing within me to see my baby born alive. I knew he wouldn’t live long, but I felt that, if I could just meet him, maybe something good would come out of this dire situation.
~ ~ ~
“I’ll call Melissa,” my mom told me that night at dinner. “They need to know.”
I nodded. “I’m just happy we didn’t choose a family. They would be so disappointed right now.”
My dad was quiet through dinner. I wondered what he was thinking about and why he didn’t talk. I knew this must be hard on him, to watch me go through this, but it was difficult to tell how he really felt. I wished he would tell me what was in his heart.
Later that evening, while I tried to focus on doing some homework, I heard a knock at my door. “Come in,” I called.
“Hi sweetie.” My dad peeked his head through the slightly open door.
I smiled. “Hi dad.”
“Can I talk to you?” he asked, not seeming to know whether to come in or go.
“Of course.” I put my pencil down and sat upright on the bed.
He entered the room and sat next to me. I sensed him struggling with what he wanted to say, so I decided to say something instead. “I’m so sorry for all of this, daddy. I’m so ashamed of myself for bringing this into our family.”
My dad started crying. “Oh, Lenna.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “You are justified in feeling disappointed, angry. Whatever you feel, I understand.”
He looked at me with wonder, shaking his head. “What about proud and overflowing with love?” The tears streamed down his face.
I stared at him in disbelief.
“Lenna,” he cried. “I couldn’t ask God for more than you. You have filled me with such love, such joy. You are everything I ever hoped for in a child. And you have not disappointed me yet.”
“How’s that possible?”
“Sweetheart.” He pushed my hair back from my face. “Your mom and I were going to let you choose. You are the most important thing on this earth to us, and we were going to let you choose because we’ve been so worried about what this is doing to you. I can’t even tell you how scared I’ve been about your state of mind. I was afraid you’d reached your breaking point when you found out about the baby’s condition. And I would understand if you had. And I would have understood if you just wanted it to be all over. Just over.”
He wiped more tears from his eyes and gripped my shoulders. “You, Lenna Naomi James, are the bravest person I know. You have surpassed my hopes of what you might become. You are so much more, and I love you.” He took me in his arms and gripped me like he would never let me go. And I knew he wouldn’t.
Chapter 16
A couple of weeks later, I walked into my mom’s bathroom on a Sunday morning and told her, “I think I’ll go to church with you today.”
She turned down her blasting music and spun away from the mirror to face me. Her make-up was halfway done, and I thought she looked funny wearing eye make-up but no blush or lipstick. “What was that, sweetheart?”
“I said I think I’ll go to church with you today.”
Her face broke out in a smile. “That will be nice.” She turned back to the mirror and finished applying her make-up. I watched her for a while before she turned to me and asked, “What’s up?”
I smiled. “Nothing. I just like watching you put on your make-up. It reminds me of when I was little.”
She picked up her blush brush and swiped at my nose with it. “Beautiful, darling!” she exclaimed, but before she could color my cheeks I left the bathroom to get ready.
I had two pairs of maternity jeans to choose from, and I decided on the ones that were low-cut instead of the spandex ones; I wasn’t mentally ready for spandex jeans yet. Even though it was a chilly forty degrees outside, I put on my new peasant shirt from Heather. It was the first time I had tried it on, and it was still baggy. I examined myself in the mirror. I thought it might be difficult for people to tell whether I was pregnant or just wearing an unflattering outfit. I put on a large blue sweater that buttoned at the front, leaving it open to show my peasant shirt. I put my hair back in a pony-tail, blush on my pale cheeks, and some lip gloss on my winter-parched lips. Last, I put on the earrings and bracelet I had gotten for Christmas and made my way downstairs.
My mom was busy pulling out milk and cereal for me while my dad stood over the counter drinking coffee and reading the news on his laptop. He looked up at me as I entered the kitchen. “I hear you’re coming with us today.” He closed his laptop. “Just like old times, eh?”
“Just like,” I said, sitting down in front of a bowl of cereal.
“You look nice,” my mom told me, bringing me a spoon.
“Yeah, I don’t think anyone will be able to tell for sure that I’m pregnant.” I put a spoonful of the bland, healthy flakes in mouth.
“Who cares about that?” my mom asked, shrugging her shoulders.
The question had been rhetorical, but I answered her anyway. “I don’t know. Some nosy old biddies. I’m sure they’ll think it’s quite scandalous.” I said the word scandalous in my best stuffy British accent, which wasn’t very good.
“I love scandal,” my dad exclaimed, sitting down at the table with me. “It’s about time we had some scandal in our lives. Do you think it will make the gossip magazines?”
“Oh!” my mom said. “Wouldn’t that be fun? Maybe our family photo would be on the cover?”
“All right.” I shoveled more cereal into my mouth. “I won’t worry about it if you’re not worried about it.”
“There’s only one opinion in this world that matters,” my dad said. “And if you’re straight with him, who cares what others think?”
“Excuse me,” my mom said, putting her hands on her hips. “There are two opinions that matter, and mine is a close second.”
My dad sighed. “I guess we better suck up to your mom more.”
~ ~ ~
I walked into church, absolutely terrified and clutching my mom’s hand as though I were dangling out of a helicopter and she was holding me up. I felt like everyone was watching me, judging me, talking about me. I tried to remember my dad’s words. Their opinions don’t matter, I thought to myself. Only one opinion matters, and I was working on that.
“Can we sit in the back?” I whispered to my mom as we weaved our way through the crowds.
“I guess so,” she said as my dad stopped to talk to a friend.
“Lenna!” I heard someone call, and my heart leaped in my chest. “Lenna,” I heard again as Heather bounded through the crowd of people.
I relaxed at the sight of her. “I’m so happy you’re here,” I said, attempting to cover my front with my sweater.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” she replied. Mr. and Mrs. Jacobson walked up behind her, and I sensed a hesitation in them.
“Hi Ben,” Mr. Jacobson said to my dad, who had just rejoined us. “Naomi.” He nodded to my mom. The whole scene seemed strangely formal for people who had known each other for several years.
“Let’s sit together,” Heather said, already pulling me toward the sanctuary. Our parents followed behind, easing into more comfortable conversation as they walked together.
“They know I’m pregnant, don’t they?” I aske
d as we took a program and went through the doorway.
She frowned. “Yeah, sorry. I told ‘em.”
I nodded. “It’s okay.”
We found some seats in the back, per my request, and waited for our pokey parents to find us. We waved to them as they entered the sanctuary. They sat in a line on the other side of Heather, leaving me at the end.
After we finished singing, during the announcements, I found myself scanning the sanctuary.
“He’s not here,” Heather whispered to me. “They went away for spring break.”
“Oh,” I said, disappointed. “Where?”
“Ohio.”
I opened an envelope from the pew and began to doodle on it with a stubby pencil.
“His grandparents,” I mumbled.
“I guess,” Heather said as the pastor began his sermon.
As hard as I tried to concentrate on what he was saying, my mind kept wandering. I thought about the baby. Was his weak heart still beating? Since I still hadn’t felt movement, I would have no way of knowing if he had died or when he had died. I brought my hands to my belly and rubbed my itching skin. I stroked it and continued thinking about my son as the pastor went on with his sermon.
Should I give him a name? I thought it would be sad for him to have never had a name, but would naming him make it that much harder when he passed? It was like pretending he wasn’t going to die. Everything I did for him felt like pretending.
I looked at Heather, but she was watching the pastor like a good church attendee. I tried again to focus on the sermon. I caught something about forgiveness, and I wished Will were there to hear it. But then again, maybe I didn’t deserve to be forgiven. I had treated him badly. My mind wandered off again as I thought about that first day of school… and wished I could go back.
~ ~ ~
I had been excited that morning, putting on my new jeans and green tank top. My hair looked as good as it could—flat, as usual, but shiny. My skin was clear, and my parents had finally allowed me to start wearing a little make-up. I thought maybe, just maybe, Aidan Bettner would notice me that day… should I be so lucky.
The Day We Met Page 12