New mothers were supposed to leave with their babies.
I knew the second we left that hospital and arrived home without Meara, things would get worse.
And for once, I didn’t have a clue how to make it better.
She didn’t say a single word the entire way home.
Every time I opened my mouth to offer up something encouraging, something helpful, the words would get caught midway, and nothing but air would spring forth.
I felt like a failure to her, a traitor to the solid band of love and security woven around my left hand.
I wanted to comfort her, make all her doubts and fears fall away, as I’d done in the past, but in this instance, my own fears were just as overwhelming.
The physical pain I’d felt while walking out of that hospital without Meara consumed me, gnawed at me, until every step I’d taken away from her was like walking through quicksand—nearly impossible.
I didn’t know how to be strong for Lailah this time because nothing about this seemed right.
I had so much to be thankful for. Going into that hospital less than a week ago, I’d had no idea what to expect. Would my child take her first breath? Would I ever see my wife alive again?
But somehow, we were all still here yet not fully together.
I knew, deep down, eventually, we would have our day when pictures were taken after baby Meara finally graduated from the NICU to the real world, but for now, it was just the two of us parents returning to an empty house.
As we pulled into the driveway, I noticed a familiar car parked along the curb. As my eyes scanned the street, I spotted another and another. The street seemed to be filled entirely by our friends and family. I looked up at the house and realized it was brightly lit rather than dark and gloomy.
“Did you invite anyone over?” I asked, turning to Lailah.
She hadn’t yet looked up.
Her eyes jerked up toward the house in confusion. “No,” she answered.
We both jumped out of the car, intrigue now a key distraction for our sadness. We walked up to the front door, finding it unlocked, and we took hesitant steps inside.
“Surprise!” everyone yelled as Sandy bounced up to greet us.
“What in the world?” Lailah gasped, petting her mop of a dog while trying to figure out what was going on.
I held her steady and tried to calm the dog. She and I took a minute to look around the room. Grace, Brian, and little Zander stood by the kitchen. Molly and Marcus sat at the kitchen table beside my mom. Rounding out the group were Nash and Abigail sitting on the couch, smiling at us, as we approached.
“We didn’t want you to feel alone,” Molly said.
“And we thought you might need some things,” Grace added excitedly.
“But you already threw me a shower,” Lailah protested. “Besides . . .” She looked around, the obvious missing bundle in her arms weighing heavily on her heart.
Grace stepped forward, taking Lailah’s hand. “We know you have diapers and a breast pump and everything else you might need when Meara comes home—and she will come home, Lailah, soon.”
Lailah nodded, a deep breath filling her lungs, as I stepped forward to wrap my arm around her waist.
“But I thought you might need other things—for this.” Grace pointed to Lailah’s heart. “To help make the days more bearable.”
With a tug of her hand, Grace pulled Lailah to an open spot on the couch as Sandy followed, placing himself protectively by her side. Grace motioned for me to sit down next to Lailah, so I took a spot on the floor by her feet.
“We all came up with something. I hope you like them,” Grace said.
My mom went first, stepping forward with a simple gift basket, accented in pink. I gave it to Lailah to disassemble. Inside was an assortment of bath products and lotions along with some sort of art kit.
“I remember feeling very . . . well, not myself, let’s just say,” my mom explained, pointing to the bath gel. “I thought these would help you relax when you’re not at the hospital. It’s not always easy to spring back after giving birth, but a little pampering never hurts.”
“And this?” I asked, pointing to the small art kit.
“I had a friend whose granddaughter was in the NICU last year. She told me her daughter made a little name tag for the incubator. It helped make it feel more like home and less like a hospital, I guess. I thought it might be worth a try.”
“Thank you, Mom,” I said, squeezing Lailah’s hand.
I set down the basket in preparation for Grace’s gift.