I’m at a loss for words. I should be soothing her and trying to take some of her pain and fears away, but I can’t because of my anger. I’m so angry, and I know I’ll never get over this. I should leave. I should do what I can to avoid the pain I’ll feel when I see my daughter, knowing I will have to give her up. This is all too much.
Coming to terms with the thought of being a dad has taken me months. Every minute of every day since Cammy told me, I have convinced myself this is the way it’s supposed to be. I’ll make it through this. We’ll all make it through this. Now that I’ve finally come to terms with it, I’m not sure I can suddenly come to terms with not having this little girl in my life.
My thoughts fall quieter, and the pastel-washed room filled with a scent I will never forget joins me in silence as Cammy pushes through her pain. I’m still as a statue, holding her hand as sweat trickles down her red cheeks. I can’t hear anything. It’s as if the world around me has paused except for Cammy, the doctor, nurses, and...that cry.
The doctor holds her up like a trophy we just won, and to me, she feels like a trophy. People don’t give up trophies.
After cleaning her up, one of the nurses gently hands Cammy our baby girl, and I wait and watch for the look on Cammy’s face to morph from pain to love, but…it doesn’t happen.
“I can’t hold her,” Cammy utters. She closes her eyes to avoid looking at the most beautiful thing she will possibly never see.
How could she not touch our daughter? “I’d like to hold her,” I speak out, louder than I meant to.
“No,” Cammy argues. “She isn’t ours.” Cammy breaks down into a fit of tears, which turn into loud cries. She’s suffering in pain, both emotionally and physically, and I don’t know how to fix that because I don’t know how to fix my own emotional pain at the moment. “It’ll make it worse, AJ. Believe me.”
“It’s the only chance I’ll have,” I argue. “I wouldn’t give it up for the world, Cammy.”
Cammy clenches her eyes tighter and inhales sharply through a painful groan. The nurse takes her cue and walks over to me, placing my daughter into my arms.
Her skin is so pink and perfect. Her eyes are looking at me wildly like she’s trying to figure out what’s going on and how she ended up here. Little sprouts of dark hair are coiled into fine curls, and her lips are shaped like perfect bows. She’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, and I love her more than I’ve ever loved anything or anyone.
“Are you naming her or are the adopting parents naming her?” the nurse asks Cammy.
“They’re naming her,” Cammy says, with only a soft sound to her breath. Her words float through the air, and I realize the names we came up with were never set in stone, but I didn’t think she would choose against naming her.
My daughter is still staring up at me. Maybe she’s trying to memorize my face before she’s taken away. I wish I could tell her to memorize me. “Don’t forget me,” I whisper softly. “Please.”
“The adopting parents were called about an hour ago, as requested. They are in the waiting room. Once we freshen you up, would you like me to bring them in?” The nurse is focusing solely on Cammy because Cammy has said she doesn’t know who the father is. I am this little girl’s dad. I will always be her dad whether she knows it or not.
“Yes, please,” Cammy says through weak words. How is she so strong? How can she just do this? What is she feeling inside? Is she breaking like me? Is she already broken? This isn’t the girl I’ve known and loved for almost two years. This isn’t something my Cammy would do.
The nurse finally looks over at me and tilts her head gently to the side. Her eyes grow wide, and her shoulders slump forward a touch. She walks to a chair and drags it over for me and fluffs a hospital pillow, then urges me down. With her hand on my shoulder in a soothing manner, I carefully ease myself into the chair, holding this baby girl close to me, close to my heart, praying she can hear the beat and know she is connected to me for life.
I immediately become lost in my little girl’s eyes, memorizing them. Now I know how little girls wrap their daddies around their fingers. I want to give her everything. Seconds must have turned into minutes of gazing at her because there’s a knock at the door, and it startles both of us.
A young couple, straight out of that damn Homes and Gardens magazine Mom reads, walks in. These people are coming in here to take my child out of my arms. I have a child. I have a daughter. She’s mine.
The woman walks toward me with a smile from ear to ear, tears in her eyes, red cheeks—every sign telling me she’s feeling the same amount of emotion as I am, except her emotions are all completely opposite. I think.
“Oh my goodness, she is absolutely perfect and beautiful. You should be so proud of the sacrifice you are bravely making,” the woman says.
“This wasn’t my decision,” I mutter softly. I don’t want my daughter to know I made this decision if she were to ever ask about me someday.