The Starfish
I recognized your handwriting despite there being no return address.
The envelope contained a handful of sand, which spilled out as I opened it. Inside was a matchbox from a little BBQ & Crab Legs joint near Tijuana. Scrawled on top was “Thought of You,” and I paused for a moment. My mind flashed an image of your hands where mine now were, contemplating the gesture. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table and slowly slid the box open.
Inside, a pinch of sand remained to cushion a tiny starfish. I held it, delicately, marveling at its strength, thinking of how it survived tumbling around in the roaring ocean. Again leaning back in my chair, my mind left the immediacy of the moment to course over how you were always doing that – filling in pieces of me I didn’t know were missing.
That was the day before she gave birth to your second son. . .
As soon as you got the call, you were on a red-eye from Osaka, but she was afraid. It was a month early and she wasn’t ready.
I could hear the panic in her voice when she called. My heart sank, but there was no way I could tell her ‘no’. She got herself there safely, but the timing caught her off guard.
I picked up Michael and a suitcase of clothes on my way to the hospital. I took everything she would need, and a change of clothes for you too, knowing you’d come straight off the plane with no sleep and needing a shower.
Surprisingly, everything went smoothly once she got to the hospital, and knew Michael was there and you were on your way. I tried to explain to Michael that he was going to get a little brother today, but being three he was more interested in the books we borrowed from the waiting room.
She had a few hour’s reprieve from the chaos while the nurses monitored the contractions and waited for the time to be right. And that was it. Once the moment hit, there was no screaming, no frantic doctors running, just a smooth delivery of a healthy baby boy to a mother whose face gleamed at the sight of him. It was beautiful.
After the standard tests, everyone was sent back to her suite. Michael and I went to the giftshop to buy Mommy some flowers while she took a little nap. He picked out a teddybear for his new brother too and started telling me about all the things he was ready to teach him. They were going to be best friends for all time, you could see it in his eyes. We shared some pudding leisurely in the cafeteria and then took a stroll down to the nursery to see the baby.
It was just after midnight when you came in. Michael was curled up asleep with her. She had handed me the baby when he started to fuss so he wouldn’t wake up Michael, and now both of them were sleeping peacefully. He smelled so soft and warm. I wondered how the world could ever be anything other than how still and serene it was at that moment standing there holding him in the dim light.
The door brushed open and I looked up expecting to see the night nurse, but saw you instead. The hesitation in your split-second pause made my peace disappear into sadness. I smiled to answer the terrified question on your face and you understood, exhaling, your shoulders dropping their tension.
You stepped so close I could feel you breathe. Looking down at him your eyes welled up. He was so small, but filled your whole world. Your eyes caught mine, and I blinked trying desperately to keep you from seeing my agony.
I motioned to give him to you and you set down your bag. Gently, I put him in your arms. Your son. Your family. All of us together in that room that seemed to shrink a million times in that instant. I gasped for breath and searched for the exit. In the same instant, her eyes opened and looked at you adoringly, holding your son.
I slid out the door as fast and silently as I could, not knowing which way to go. The lights were out in the waiting room, so I headed to the cafeteria.
The sound of my Diet Coke dropping out of the machine snapped me back. I sat down in a plastic chair, grateful to be alone in the big, sterile room. Elbows on the table, I held my head in my hands. How did I get here? How did it get to be like this? How was it possible to endure such inhuman pain?
I must have been there twenty minutes before I became aware of how my breathing had slowed. I saw you come down the hall, past the long glass windows and another door brushed open allowing you to walk into my heart. Suddenly I became aware that it was well past 1, and realized you must be exhausted.
You collapsed into your own plastic chair. I was about to ask if you’d like a soda, but you took mine. Your hand brushed mine as you reached for the bottle and took off the cap. You drank it slowly, with your eyes closed, and sat it back down on the table not saying a word.
I sat back in my chair and this time it was you with your head in your hands.
There was no sense in entertaining any of it though. This was the way it was, the way it had to be.
Getting up from the table, I told you that I had brought you a change of clothes so you could shower. I would stay until you were settled in and then take Michael home with me. You looked up, a mixture of grief and appreciation in your eyes. I understood and smiled, turning away.
It was late. Everyone was exhausted from a very long day. Tomorrow the sun would rise and we would all go about the lives we had grown accustomed to - the silence and the distance - and everything would be unspeakably normal again.
Posted by Amanda at April 08, 2003 01:43 PM
