It isn’t until I’m in the bathroom, door locked and away from prying eyes, that I give into the urge to cry. Biting down on my lip, I slide down the wall until I’m nearly squatted on the floor. Silently, I weep, knowing the tears will do me no good, but needing to shed them anyway.
When the worst has passed, I get up and splash cold water onto my face. As I pat my skin dry, my hands slow to a stop, hovering in midair out in front of my damp forehead. That’s the very moment that I know. That’s the moment when I know who my daughter will be to me, and to Nate.
I take my phone from my pocket and flick on the video, positioning the screen in front of my face and pressing record.
“I found out who you are today,” I begin, my smile still a bit soggy. “You’re a baby girl. You’re my baby girl. When I saw your tiny body on the sonogram, I felt like my whole world was complete.” I have to turn away from the camera for a moment to collect myself before I finish the short message. “Your daddy and I have talked about names for a while, but now I know why we couldn’t settle on one. We hadn’t met you yet. But now we have, and we know who you are. You’re Grace. My Grace. My precious, precious Grace. And I will love you long after I’m gone. My baby,” I whisper. “My baby Grace.”
When I stop the recording, my sobs begin anew. I fold over at the waist and let them have me. I can’t hold them in anymore than I can hold in the mournful moans that echo through my chest like a coyote’s howl, bouncing off steep canyon walls. I don’t quiet until I hear a soft knock at the door followed by the concerned voice of Dr. Stephens’s nurse.
“Lena, are you okay in there?”
Dragging in deep gulps of air, I compose myself the best I can, straightening my clothes and wiping my palms across my cheeks.
“Yes. I’ll be out in just one minute.”
Stillness greets me from the hall, and I set about putting myself back together before I dart from the bathroom and make my way quickly to the waiting room. I know when I see Nate’s face that I must look a fright. I simply grab his hand and pull him along behind me toward the door.
He says nothing, and neither do I.
He knows.
He knows.
Seventeen
Bad Medicine
Nate
By the middle of March, Lena is twenty three weeks along. I think we’ve both begun to feel secure in her ability to carry the baby to the twenty-eight-week mark, and hopefully beyond. Her labs are holding up and the Chinese medicine man she’s seeing routinely is really helping to keep her ailing body as fit and functional as it can be, all things considered. She’s said more than once that she’s beginning to think that God really is a God of miracles.
Every day, we put forth our best efforts to keep Lena and the baby healthy and to keep up our “Blaze of Glory” mentality. We make videos, separately, together and with Nissa occasionally, and I keep back ups for my back ups. My fear of losing them is still something that haunts me on a daily basis.
It’s as I watch one of our January videos that I get an idea for something that might make my beautiful wife smile. I’m always on the lookout for things that will make every one of her last days bright and special.
I make a mental list of the things I’ll need and then I text Nissa, enlisting her help. By evening I want to be ready to go on stage.
Gone are the days of being able to put things off. When I have an idea or something I want to do or say, I make a point of getting to them as quickly as possible. The ever-present, always-silent tick, tick, tick of a clock counting down is the rhythm to which I live my life now. Every day is a race against time and I know I have to make each minute mean something.
So after our dinner, a meal full of foods rich in nutrients and elements proven most beneficial to the immune system and liver function, I help my wife to the sofa, cover her legs with a blanket and tell her, “I’ll be right back. I’m going to pick out a movie.”
She smiles, never questioning me when I tell her what I’m doing.
Early on in our relationship, we discovered that we have many things in common, including a love for the same type of music. We grew up to hair bands and Lena still counts Bon Jovi as her all-time favorite group. She knows every song they’ve ever released by heart and she’s always wanted to see them in concert. She had an opportunity when she was in high school, but an odd snow storm made it impossible for her to get there. Since then, we’ve never made catching a show a priority.
I wish we had. I wish I’d made it a priority.
As with so many things, though, we put it off thinking there would be plenty of time for that later.
Later.
Such a common word. So meaningless most of the time.
Only there aren’t going to be too many more laters for us, so I have to “make hay while the sun shines” as my grandmother used to say. That’s why, by seven PM, I’m tugging a wig into place and yanking on leather pants that are guaranteed to chafe my ass.
********
Lena